His love for her was based on durability.
She always hated how the glasses
left those rings on all the tables
and they stayed there if they soaked in
long enough.

She had been getting secret tattoos for about
a month now slowly covering her right hip
and her thigh. It was mostly crosses mixed
with crucifixes all with different victims
held there by the nails.

They walked the trails that wrapped around
the trees out back behind his stupid shed,
where he kept the severed fingers of the dead.
He would cut them as he buried them
at the moment just before he kicked them in.

The jars where they floated were like the kind
you’d see with jam inside or jelly.
He liked to look at them and shake the container
as if to replicate the feeling from before.

She’s known about it since it started,
when he showed up out of breath
one night, right after she had finished
with her ink.

The corpse’s hair was pink just like
the picture, on her ankle,
and it was clear to her with every try
this wasn’t just some other guy,
but maybe someone she could
use for her revenge.

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