5 days of bruises are built up and browning
on my notably translucent skin; i wear low-cut shirts to show them off.
there's no sorrow in my voice when i talk about your
astral body running astray across my rotting bones; i finally feel small.
601 days lost to bicycle handles and bloating bellies full of fear and sometimes cake; i don't remember before.
before, i'd get picked up and ****** up, an ultimatum in an altima; i thought it wouldn't end.
at 8 am i talked about the boy whose knowledge was so vast it overwhelmed him and took him across highways, barefoot, and out of my life; i forgive but only in abstract.