you have to feel it at the bottom of your chest
pushing and pulling and molding itself into a ball of gnashing teeth and chipped fingernails.
it sits there and meshes itself together to create
a web of endless nothingness that starts and ends in the same ****** place

like a never ending cycle of decay

it resides at the bottom of my chest and waits and waits and waits

until i feel like i’m good.
until i feel like i’m okay.

and then i remember that you have to remember the barren graveyard in your chest where flowerless headstones mark the heart that use to live and breathe and flourish its own garden.
i’ll claw at this desolate orchard and i’ll scream in anguish because i wasn’t always this hollow.

i wasn’t always this ****** hollow.

but when you come into my life and you leave flowers on a perfect grave and then walk away leaving them to wither away into ash

you can’t expect me to not engrave your name on the slab of stone i lay under.