thin ice, a hangman’s tale. she wove tales out of happenstance and skewed memory, where we were all victors and she the spoil. marred like broken bark, the fleshiness underneath. a finger without a nail, no gloss, nothing to for the nerves. i once told myself, drunken and worn in front of a mirror, you will die like this, you will die broken. look at me when i am talking to you, and i slump over the sink, knees slammed hard into tile for cool comfort.