the poetry i’ve washed
cleaned
prepped with my own limbs
has been formed
molded
shaped for the heaviness in my heart
the aching in my bones
the
the static in my head
to find another home

it makes me yearn
for more

the poetry i’ve washed
cleaned
prepped with my own limbs
is grieving
mourning for the death of the poet’s own guide
to the words
lines
scrapes of scattered thoughts
in this f-cking grave