I feel a lot better now, though, she says:
over and over again.

I can’t forget how your icy cold is still inside me,
or how I’m supposed to say

I feel a lot better now, though.
I try to live with what happened

and how I feel
(like fingers digging into flesh).

It would all be a lot better
if it hadn’t been at all, though.

Of all the stories that you have told
you owe me an apologetic one now.

You owed me back then.
Meanwhile, I’ve tried to take leave of this:

I’ve tried sleeping with a broken body.
I’ve tried sleeping with a healed heart.

I claw my way out of nightmare
and nightmare and nightmare.

Nothing seems to arrive at
actually being a lot better, though.