you were afraid of being cut open
the view of doctor gloves
reaching inside
parts you didn't
know could feel
like slicing off
a point of a star
watching it dim
and die inside
of a light bulb
flickering.
these things they spit out of you
you lost them one at a time
fingers down your throat
evacuate what you didn't need;
that day i slept in your stomach
i could feel the urgency of static
pulling me through your lungs
your teeth hit me on the way out
you needed me
but you were your own
doll maker
cutting space
into your heart
substituting
wooden pieces
that held no
memory of
the way
my lashes looked
when it rained