Author: Tori Green
Blue. Black. On my back,
the skin of my face—same shade,
different place.
It’s expensive to hide, to lie.
To cover up the rage you leave streaking my body—
it's expensive,
to sit awake
searching the darkness for the quietest path I can take—
away from you and this ache.
To hope you'll change when I know I’ll get more of the same—
it's expensive.
And I'm all spent.