There was just the one text

The smashed phone was the product thereof

And of my fierce anger

Because I knew what would follow

I knew Silence

Would be come your answer

Your postanthropocene

And my identity was for naught.

You were (of course)


It was not you I had misimagined

It was the self I believed

Existed under your gaze

That was the fiction.

She walked behind me for years

That thing I created

That doppelgänger who I believed

You once termed


And then one night

I could face her no more

This thing I’d stitched together out of


Shared moments

Shared silence

Sharing in general

Oh I wove her gowns

Her hair out of the silken streamers

Of laughter

Her steps tripping down walk ways

A smile ever ready

I made her out of love

For you

—Out of innocent stupidity.

But you ghosted

That creature

And in your silence

I decided

She’d have to die.

I couldn’t have her following me

I couldn’t look at her and wonder



Made out of love and strangled

By indifference…

That’s the way things that (only believe)

They were loved

Usually go to die

Isn’t it?


~ by Rebecca Erickson on October 5, 2015.

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