it’s hard to feel something,
even harder to feel nothing.
mind-numbing repeats of spoken words;
a scratched-up record of your voice.

the mold growing on my bones
feels no different than your fingertips on my skin.
linger with me for a while.
before you leave,
watch me rot.

i’m ripping off layer after layer;
rid me of the remnants of you.
i could care less if they see
my dry, florid skin
as long as you aren’t
attached.

second chances are well-deserved,
but thirdfourthfifth pass and
you are no longer welcome back.
my heart is under construction,
and you aren’t wearing a hard hat.