The hammer knocks a sweet song against the skull with a deceitful I love you in its lingering after-kiss. A liar, a crosser, a heathen it leaves in the wake to pick up the jagged pieces of her soul.
Tape wouldn’t fix it.
Ten types of glue wouldn’t put things back together.
Her shatter reflection bangs like heavy pots and pans. She looks for herself in the cracks, but the salty wounds left nothing but empty bones staring back.
She floats alone, waiting to be echo home, back before it happen, back before he went out of mind. She floats in the orbit of a thousand suns but the cold still holds her.
Spin around.
Toss aside.
Shake, shake, shake.
That long ago night turns her inside out, pressures her into a too comfortable silence. She looks for answers in the dark, not waiting for the hum and buzz of shame to take her into its depths.
She says words to fix her killing.
She says words to upset him.
She says words to the eyes of sisters.
“Me too.”
Friday Faraday was born on the south side of Chicago. Agender and Pansexual, Friday wants their writing to be a voice for POC, the LGBTQ community, and intersectional feminism. A graduate of Southern New Hampshire University. A member of Sigma Tau Delta. Friday is an Adjunct Professor at Wilbur Wright College and has been published by The Paragon Journal, Nabu Review, and OUT/CAST magazine.
–Art by Jaime Ryan