Rope

Does your neck still burn from the rope I gave you. Do you think of me when you struggle to swallow. Your Adams Apple bobbing against what’s no longer there. Squeezing past the memory. The token I gave you to show I cared. Is it tucked in a draw, at the back with the socks. Beneath lining paper, pulled up at the corner. Do you reach to touch it. A repeated action you never let go. Grasping for nothing. Grasping at skin. Does your neck still burn. I wonder.

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