Bed sheets become red sheets,
Pillows becomes tear catchers,
No dream catchers here because only nightmares live,
Feasting on wakeful exhaustion.
Deflated bouncy castles for intestines,
White blood cells searching frantically in enclosed darkness.
Enemy invaders seeping into blood, bone and muscle
As the warriors remain trapped in sticky villi.
Drug dependency is a permanent solution
And overdosing is a consistent caregiver for sleep.
Nausea is a rebellious, suicidal last stand
To go down with the invaders as they're taken out.
A seven year war fought inside your body
With no visible battle lines drawn is lonely.
My skin is pockmarked, riddled with the craters of bombs
Fired from all sides with no mercy for the land.
Sometimes I can't help but wonder what'll **** me first:
The invaders or my body's own troops.

I've met so many with switches
I love them with all I have
I light them on fire, I cater to their
Every want, their every need, I
Polish them until they shine, I
Rewire them and untangle their crosses and label them so
Meticulously
And things get a little overloaded
A breaker trips and they read the
Labels and find my name
stare at me, analyze me, and then
Flip their switch
Shut it all down
And walk on

When I look at myself I wonder where I went
my thighs are too big
my stomach is soft
And my glow got lost somewhere under the flat roof, behind these blackout curtains

Who am I
Will I ever know beside him
Does he complete me
Does he just cover up what hurts
Does he just hurt me too much to go

Is this what cold feet feels like
I've dipped my toes
I've jumped in
And the river is flowing and pushing me through
And somehow I'm still clinging to warm breaths

For him?

Or just enough so I can pull myself out and run as hard as I can in the furthest direction from him
So I have a chance

What if he never touches me
In a way that doesn't need words

What if I go through life on his eggshells
Under his thumb
Under those eyes that go from soft to rigid stones

Like a water color
Beautiful and undefined
Bleeding into the threads
Of his love

in between dreaming and the harsh awareness of reality
my hand found the place where you used to lay
brushing against the perfectly unmoved sheets
making its way to the perfectly
untouched pillow
eyes opening, gazing, and sinking as reality set in
you weren't just "up early"
walking the dog,
making us coffee,
...waiting to wake me with a kiss to the forehead

my knuckles turned as white as the sheets as
they clenched the place that once was you
holding onto whatever they could of your memory
believing if I squeezed hard enough
I could get the last drop of you out

just for this morning