you talk to me on sunday mornings,
when my skin has grown
through my sheets.

you gave me a box for my chest,
told me to lock what I love,
but my insides are stretched
out on the road,
pulled farther away
with every passing car.

you tell me to peel myself
off my bed,
your breath falls through my window
and onto my cheeks,
but sleep holds me
when you won't.

you settle in my hair,
and leave shadows on my bones,
turning them green and they
soak you up like a sponge.

you tell the flies to love me,
and on the road they do.

take me away from ***** sheets and stained pavement.
leave me where the sun will love me too.