Cuz mama when it boils down to it we’re all fools
And I’ve become the monster that lets him believe he can fool me more than once

The crank of the pump is audible maybe for the first time
Drops joining a full line endlessly pouring into the vein
Skin so thin I can almost perceive the flow of morphine.. or is it blood?
I can count her bones as I clean
A pressure so light like when I was an infant and my father tickled my toes
No muscle or fat remaining they’ve already rejoined nature
But then the chest balloons, one shallow breath falling into step with mine
Sending a shudder down my spine like I’ve been electrocuted
Both of us hold our breath as i roll her bones
Black pools of blood on her back
Like ink spilling out on the page
vying to get out
And tell her story

The thing about people
Is you can scream your feelings
You can post them online
You can send them your poems
But they can never feel the way you feel
So maybe expressing it never really happens

The urgency to call you has faded most days
Sun rises and sets and I tell no one about what happens in between
And it’s freeing, but also it’s isolating
It is a reminder that all I ever had was the conversations I have in the dark