We slough skin from our bodies.
Seven lives —
We emerge pink and newborn from each heartbreak.
Fists closed; eyes squeezed shut in protest.
Not again,
Not again.
Left cold by our past selves
We flee each pin-prick of realisation.
Breathing our cold breath out over the valley of expectant upturned faces
Forcing our gaze outward
Ever outward
Finding comfort in someone else’s shame.