it's the termites. they crawl under my skin when I am not looking. they have blackberry juice for blood. it drips down their little chins, sticky and soursweet.
I am just driftwood. tunnels etched into my bones. a million legs creeping around my insides. shore to shore I crash into rocks and am pulled away with the tide. it's always the moon telling me to leave. it's always me turning away.
I am just a stickman. hang me up to dry when you can't figure out what I am. the alphabet is not infinite enough to define me.
the termites don't like me whole. they prefer meat that is rotting. whispers in my skull, shadows leave me half complete. I like the sun best when it is below me. I like the light most when it is directly in my eyes. all the terrible things I never want to see. open your mouth and blind me.
