there's a ghost in this house
& teeth marks in my tongue
from the times I've had to stop myself.
if you want me to walk with you,
put me in a greenhouse
so I won't complain about
the frigid air.
hold me close,
not when I cry
but when our eyes meet
and there's tears in mine.
and when I turn into
that ghost
when I become
hallowed out and dry and sick,
like a cicada;
(it will happen)
when my brain is reduced to
leftover spaghetti mush
and my eyes are glazed over
glazed like the cake I would never eat
if it's you, you can touch me

oh my God it's so cold here