more? there’s nothing to give.
not with my sore pale hands
clutching every last fiber that stands
between our two shapes.
not with my bloodshot eyes
pleading for responses that eat at every surface.
not with my black dying heart
wincing at the sight of every disaster that, in vain, keeps me alive.
not with my hollow brain
the fight or flight tendencies defining the reactions i give.

you want more?
there’s nothing to give.
there never was anything
to give.