I wipe the blood
From my nose
And massage
The sore needle holes
Dive back in
To overdose.
There are no more faces
Like yours.
So I try to smear your photo
From my mind.
So that even while
You dig into my head
When I’m lying in bed,
I’ll be able to forget you
And sleep for a week.
Maybe.
You’ll be a secret I keep.
Pushing away.
[Rana Kelly was born and raised in the Deep South, and now resides in the Southwest. Her poetry, personal essays, short fiction, and photography has been published in anthologies and literary magazines far and wide over the years, ]
