she twists and turns in her sleep, sheets tie limbs down into something that passes as rest. tears for pillows, the slumber of a man beside her who breaks her constantly. children who wake in the night vomiting into his arms and the tired limbs of a mother bent over double to change the sheets. i’ve poured everything into this or i’ve poured nothing, but i am mourning for it, of it, of him and her and what they used to be. and i dream of nooses, i dream of hanging, i dream of an unmarked grave.