i only write in the dark in the night in the moments when i feel my eyelids fall heavy and my chest grow empty. it is only then that i can untie the bird from my sternum and let the creatures growing in my small intestines wake. the sky will rupture and glow pink and i will be none the wiser because while white elephants sing and paper mache dolls rise i will be here, in my final form in the sea with those who tried me like i tried myself. i am my own worst enemy.

my body shivers as i curl up next to her. we whisper and cry as she claws through my hair—this is our nightly ritual.
i am crawling into the shell of myself. i am allowed to be held here. i am safe now but there is still creaking from this bed and dandruff under her fingernails and my dog is barking at the wall that i will not knock down.
here i have learned what it is to be a woman—
to give everything save for the bones in your body so that your love can mean something. to look unto her, that beautiful woman who hates herself, and only see your own outline.

my eyes are buzzing; there are birds in my chest
and a hole where my throat ought to be.
my body is slick and empty. my stomach churns and I don’t know if i am harboring a fugitive in my organs or just seasick. no way to know.
my head is heavy but i have rusted too much to unscrew it now. i havent slept in millennia but i’m too old for that **** anyways.
my body is made of crushed light and heat, from biblically accurate dinosaur bones. take my lackluster god and step on her toes. you forgot your colors on my ******* neck.

press your hands into the dirt,
do my organs feel okay?
i haven't slept since the day I cried into you,
since the day you knew how to care for me like I was yours.
were you mourning then too?
i'm buried in the yard with your cat and your orchids--
pour the soil into my bed and over your head.

you stab at the sheet of fabric in your hands, the needle flashing. back and forth and back and forth and backandforth.
your movements are rhythmic. i lean in, listening to the drum, the identifiable footsteps down the hall, the delayed strike of thunder after lightning in a storm.
you move closer to whisper in my ear, never stopping your work:
"you won't remember this."
i now notice the stains on your shirt. they're speckled in various colors, greens and blues and shades of magenta.
i should have known.
you're silent again---or maybe my ears have just stopped working because i can't even hear your breathing. i don't look up this time. i'm too focused on the crate on the floor, the one that's full to the brim of clothing hangers. i close my eyes. you watch me sleep.
i don't even notice when the fabric tears.

my feet sink into the dirt, mud and grass and all things between my toes and in the cuffs of my jeans. it doesn't matter though, i'm where i'm supposed to be.
its the garden of eden, the apple of temptation. if only i believed in god, this might mean something more.

she leans into the mic, her voice is raspy and familiar. i know why she doesn't remember my name and my clothes and my story. i know why she chooses to forget.
i can't seem to make out the words she's saying. i want to sit in a corner and hide, but i need to do this right now. i watch her lips as sound flows out like pudding, drops and glops of the stuff making a mess everywhere. i open my mouth to speak too. i sound just like her: incoherent and jumbly.
i watch in horror and disbelief as i morph into her. my nails and lungs turn black, the pins fall out of my hair. i catch a glimpse of my reflection. i look the same as i always have. nothing has changed.