The Other Woman

There is a red handkerchief
She stuffs it in my mouth

When I call for help

I want to talk

I want to seek help

A stranger will be better

But it is always too late.

The damage is done.

She denies me 

Of all the happiness or relief

Until I stop feeling anything at all. 

And so the poetry remains incomplete..

The other woman 

Inside me.

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