How does this sound for the prologue of my new book?
She’s thought about it
way too long
anger simmering
like pasta writhing
in boiling water,
only she doesn’t soften.
Lingering in the old pot
as she plots and
plans her escape.
The final details
appearing as foam
on a briny bank.
One last thing
before she departs
into the unknown
a card
to a loved one
with
unconditional
instructions.
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