Emptier than a night                             Internally:, Voices                                                   they were supposed to
come home,                              write in permanent ink            (they scream)                                           but didn’t.
A silhouetted frame that’s              with words like                                                        becoming slashed into pieces 
until there’s nothing left.                      the memories
That breath that was supposed               of when the grains                                        to come but instead you drowned 
into melancholies instead.                             of your love 
 Lungs only functioning as                                 slip in                                                                   an obligation now. 
As my salt stained lips                                      between                                                              from the closed eyed 
tears quiver                                                    your intricacies                                                                                                                      conclusively                     and lacerate you.                        Cutting your eyes,
Face now sculpted                  they beginning to tear up with the                                        into a mountainous landscape.  
Hard and cruel.                                           remembrance                  
 (If you keep looking like that      of the past,                anxieties of                                   you’ll get stuck with that face forever.)
The caves of my expressions                      the future.                                                                   become closed off.
Blocking the winds of                                   Externally:                                  concentrated emotion and purpose.
     Mold eating away at                                       O                                                              glass thinking.
          Filling the cracks that                           V                                                   ideas were meant to.
                Mouth a river blocked                            E                             by a dam of drunk beavers                 
                      who chip through the                             R               grain of me like termites.
                                My sentences losing their        S        structure, incoherent. 
                       Going against the grain,               T                 chipping away parts of
              myself , no one bothering                            I                             to pick up splinters and
      pieces. Time running out                          M                                       as feet step away, display                                    unappealing, my stomach                     U                                                  a blender of disease, then vomiting 
all over my damn worth.                            L                                                      Trembling in a puddle of anxiety,
 I then take a breath……
                                 A                                                          but drown in that puddle as      needles stab at my thoughts                                                                                       and re-sew me into a uneven quilt.
With no protection against                            O                                                           the weather, it forms me into what  
it chooses. Holes, cracks,                                  N                                                     and chips make me, dirt and maggots
living inside them.                                  N                                                                 Not to say maggots are bad… 
They clean away the                                             N                                                                        dead parts of me.
Clearing                                                N                                                                              away the


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