I make myself coffee and let it get cold

I wait for something

It does not come
The door is locked, the fire now ash.

I comfort myself like we are two people,
I press my knuckles
squeeze my ankle

My bones are here, and here, and here
I lick my teeth and feel their sharpness
they have nothing to sink into

My body knows where it should be
Which bugs would burrow in its marrow

I see i am solid
And feel i am unmade

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem