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almost invisible,
but irritating.
Usually they come out
at night, when I’m lying
there, begging for sleep.
I’ve been meaning
to tell the manager
that the apartment needs to be
sprayed. Sprayed. Steam
cleaned. Deodorized.
My hair looks odd too.
It used to be darker.
Shinier. Prettier.
Can hair lose color
when you’re only eighteen?
What if I go all the way
gray? Will Trey still
love me? Will anyone?
That is, if I fool
them all and don’t die.
Trey Is Waiting
Outside. One look tells him
more than he wants to know.
He opens his arms, reels me in.
What’s the matter? Mom, again?
I can’t even address that.
“Would you care if I died?”
He pushes me back, eyes
netting mine like a difficult
catch. What the fuck are you talking
