Reflexes

All my exes
Live in reflexes
In the sweet, soft, singing
Stinging
Terrible scent
Cascading
From the
Dead fox noose
Wrapped neck
Of a woman twice her age
For the half step through
Sleep deprived synapse static
To register
That it was a trick
She never
Broke her mind on your pillow
Where black mascara
Marked every
Wasted
Tear’s small grave
That was someone else
Remind yourself
As the dread wrenches
Your gut
Pulling you spine first
To a rung a little farther down
The rot-wood ladder
You convinced yourself was progress