My chest is a hollow drum with skin
pulled over the top
trying to pass as alive.
It’s so loud
it makes the bugs
crawl back into the floor.

My nails are excerpts
that recall short spans of calm.
Breaking so often
that the only stuff left to bite
is bone.

My mouth is an independent
inborn system.
Swallowing
and ******* up the clues
to my own life.

My cup is the real Holy Grail
filled high with *****.
And for now
it’s enough.