These shrunken hands
Sinking beyond my body
Common places, common days
My arms dissipate, regardless

My ribs compress like cliche metaphors
A long, drawn out CPR
My lips sting
And my body laughs
Like the dying rattle of a miser man

And my eyes
Dry like the wind

I sit
Lukewarm tea at my tongue
As I stare and try and try
Make this mess at my chest and my skin
Mine

Make my box of random trinkets
All different sizes but each in
Their own, small compartment
A mess but my mess and my mess I understand
But these clothes spill from my drawers and from
The bottom of my bed
And soon it’s just itching polyester
And nails-on-chalkboard fibre

My face is drawn tight
On the brink of spilling static
Cause under these nerves
And vessels and sinew

I’m just soda and mentos
And time