You want to live in one of two safe spaces:

The first, where she writhes under him

His fingers squeezing out air like small pythons

While you lick your teeth

Or cover your eyes

And wonder how she could’ve been so stupid

Or the second,

Where he’s just another asshole that got fucked with no lube,

Tucked away safely in jail like the strand tucked behind her ear

And she sashays past as if this is a pharma ad,

Proving she’s more, she’s over it

With every new haircut and brunch date

You don’t want to see the space

Where she’s writhing alone,

Ghosts planted on top of her

And imaginary pythons filling her stomach;

Where Medusa’s gaze seems to have enveloped her chest,

Though her mind keeps running

And she wills her legs to do the same

No matter the fact that

This bed is warm,

The roof is sturdy,

There are three locks on the door.