The hollowness behind my ribs doesn't cease, and curious I decide to take a look. I claw my way through only to see that where my heart should be is an IOU with your signature. My lungs have been slashed open like a pair of tires, and I realize you've carved your initials into them. With shaky hands I thread a needle to close up the mess, only to find myself an hour later staring at my gore covered palms. Somehow the thread around my wrist is untouched, but tighter in your absence. You walk in, but keep your distance because the hole in my chest makes you sick and I promised not to upset you. I smile falsely and hide the gouge behind hoodie zippers and bird chatter, distracting you from caring.


k.f.