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Exposed

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She lies in a dimly lit room,
Limbs rigid.
The rickety metal table sends shivers across her bare skin.
She is told to breathe deeply.

The case of her chest slowly unfastens,
It springs open,
Revealing dusty memories she is too afraid to remember:
Her sweaty palms holding his,
When the only lyric she remembered was a stutter,
Fuchsia underwear beneath white pants,
Making eye-contact for too long,
Entangled limbs beneath a staircase,
Muffled snickers as she walked by.

She can no longer feel the austerity of the cool metal beneath her,
All she feels are the eyes.

So this is what exposure feels like.
She wonders if they ever blink.

They rummage through her chest,
Blowing off the dust
And peeling back the tape
Off of boxes
Better left
Shut.




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