Someplace there is shredding

A soft black rabbit in a wooden house

A boy and his hair grown out to his toes

A teacher too sad to keep her ribs in place

There’s gravel in my throat or something

I can’t tell what is ripping my chords

Maybe there’s a cat down there, bored and vacant and clawing

But it’s probably my own voice, sharp, ready and slicing.

There is someone I’m hiding from you, she’s too scared

She’s hurting and nothing I do can protect her.

I’ve been wearing a shell just so long as I’ve needed to

I’m almost done.

Maybe not, maybe I’ve just begun, but it’s hot in here

Suffocating

Moist and unwelcome

If I needed a knife to chisel out these walls, I wouldn’t have to spend a single dime.

With my words cut to a point I must be careful with the blade.

It might not make a difference, shell or not

But it might be the only thing between alive and rot.