Confession of a Former Cult Leader

As you rush towards
my hijacked ambulance - 
the karabit steady,
resting to the side of my birthing, soldier hip.  
Your momentum,
not mine, 
disembowels you
to expose
the cancer
that never existed 
inside the you that you aren’t.

It’s not your fault:
You weren’t privileged with, 
though you probably should have asked,
my safe word:


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