No Exits

Jackal-lipped lovers line up to see my life on the silver screen

a broken reel waxes poetic, clippings of tattered newspaper

writhe across the empty theater, borne by a wind of regret-

it slips through the cracked open door like the impression of

something creaking on broken ankles.

 

My sigh fills the room, and the ghosts of my past are trolleys

into a void, one-way ticket, no refunds.

Pay the conductor a tip, and remember,

no exits are here.

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