so many bodies lie
rotting and I’m sick
many hands digging
holes in the ground
and I’m sick. I’m sick
and tired.
I think of how you
used to be, and the
weight of the world
squeezes my neck
till my heart splatters
like red paint
on an empty canvas.
I’m sick, and I let you
carve abandonment
into my flesh.
I’m sick and I want to
sleep where the bodies
don’t sleep.