I stumble across the threshold with a skeleton key in one hand and a crowbar in the other.
I had run like my tights mumbling under my breath about sparking flints and knotted shoelaces.
I promise myself I will lay me down once I have washed the moths from my hair, once the dried blood has bled once again and siphoned down the drain.
And that in my bed, I will spread out my arms and legs
trying to fill the crater in my moon.
Incoherent and blind.
I feel the walls like Braille to the bathroom.
I sit down on the lid of the toilet,
one hand clutching my ribs,
and I, the second flood,
spill out into the porcelain tub.