the only time I've felt love is when it's rotting in my flesh like in soil. 
the earthworms ended up settling in between my ribs, and I must say that you can hardly see them anymore. 
and even though the parasites knew I had bled myself dry to mend an illness of some sort, they burrowed into my skin and took shelter through the winter. 
does everyone look for a new home when it gets cold out?
is the only antagonist of security the sound of leaves hitting the pavement?
must everything freeze in the snow or is something left sacred?
my body is the grave that most people fear.