it is silent. I step out, naked. I tread the seventeen carpeted steps to the bathroom. I enter, toothbrush nestled between my dripping fingers. I brush. I leave. I enter my bedroom and there lies the limp, pink, faded scrap of a bra. Involuntarily I leap for it.Tear it apart. Shred by shred. Fibre by fibre. Ripping until I am spent and fatigued. Clutch desperately on the floor for underwear. Hoist them on. Pick up the shiny, metallic nail clippers. Start clipping. Keep clipping.
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