I reached out to hold your hand and
there was nothing.
A hologram.
Just an illusion,
like the person you were,
like a mite burrowed
under our skins.
Toxic.
You’ve murdered
every
single
one of us.
You’re beautiful.
A beautiful lie.
My childhood
shattered,
my adulthood
wandering,
among your fairytales,
among those frayed books of yours
in the heart of your home.
I don’t know you.