When I left you I hoped to be hit by a bus Perhaps a broken leg would outlast my heartbreak, Or the part of myself that I hated would get cracked back into place, Like a rocky nose, Reconstructed to swoop elegantly I never felt those untouched bones until I closed your gate for the last time, And opened the door to my car Slumped over the black, leather wheel A pile of milky brittle, Jagged and shattered, Like chicken wings That a shaman might read. Would my body lay elegantly like a docile deer or be madly misshapen?
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