everything crashes at once,
too much for my chest to hold.
Both of my fists hit the wheel,
wishing it would hit me back.
Knuckles ghost-white, grip too tight,
maybe if I hold on hard enough,
I won’t fall apart.
My lungs cave.
My chest goes hollow.
The air thins, running from me.
Then comes a second wave,
crashing down,
harder this time.
A flood of tears, finally letting go.
They rain down my face fast?—
angry, reckless, pissed.
They don’t fall. They attack.
I hear Raymond.
Not really. But really.
His voice, his humming, is in my head,
his hands still on my skin?—
ghosts knowing
how to keep the bruises bruising.
He’s gone.
But I still feel him. I still feel gross.
I feel disgusting.
I am disgusting.
I slam my palm into the steering wheel,
hoping the ache will knock him out of me.
Once.
