wraith

Imperceptible, am I.
I ordered the same drink at the same coffee shop I go to every day,
my drink order has evanesced like a ghost thin and pale as the skin over milk
nine times in the past month,
no receipt of my desire, no recollection of my face or my name,
no proof that I ever wanted anything.
Occult, am I
Invisible to the law of attraction, a grey matted fur cat slinking through cardboard boxes and pipes
drinking gutter water, I wait and I wait, like abdication on the street
like a blind date where they really are blind,
to me.  
Vaporous, am I
I sit and swallow, and swallow, and swallow bite after bite to finish my plate that I didn’t fill,
and then one night I stand and let my fist reconcile its feelings with the wall,
and the soft skin over my knuckles busts open like corset buttons, like a debutante that couldn’t take the pressure,
and the girl in the next room over, knocks back, and asks for me to stop,
and I say sure and silently clean the wall.
Wraithlike, am I.
Losing body parts slowly, like a black and white film where the girl wishes she were never born, except I didn’t, she did;
and I’m hoping these words are appearing for you,
like I can still put things into existence,

but I am not enduring, so let me know
if you get this message.

-anna sluder

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