I’m a Christmas tree?

People put things on me

And

Then I die.

I am

what

I am

but that is

not what I want

to be.

There is more in my lungs

than air.

There is more in my veins

than blood.

For I am

unsure as to what

but not unsure of knowing

that

I am

more than

whatever

I am

now.

I’m going to collect you.

I’m going to keep you

on my shelf

and look at you

but never touch you

because it will hurt.

I’ll water you (sometimes)

but you’ll survive because

you don’t need me.

You’re odd

but so am I.

You’re supposed to flower

bloom in fact

but you haven’t.

I have taken you away

from your home

and put you on my shelf.

You’re temporary and fragile

but strong and tough.

You push me away

but pull me in

I want to know more

but then I don’t.

because you’re a cactus

on my shelf.

used to burn red like hot amber
couldn't put me in a body bag
i'd set it alight.
threw bricks and dolls.
scratched my skin raw
needed to get it off
wanted to shed skin like a snake
instead
grew grey
with time I couldn't read.
couldn't pick up a toothbrush
emptiness is my weapon
called it the void.