HOME | DD

Description
I drank vanilla Coke and searched under
my fingernails for slugs or left over
pieces of love I may have dropped and forgot.

Of course, the cupboards are always emptied;
these days, I cannot even find my skin.

I am an expectation- growing wildly,
devouring skipped heart beats, and
now upon exhale, I have a murmur
buried so deep under the ruins of clavicle & rib
the sound is stuck behind a heartbreak's avalanche
from roughly 1,000 days prior, to the second.

I ignore it
with tin cans stacked window-high
in every corner of the room.

It sounds easy, but with the mealworms I own
crunching in a bed of saw dust, it's not.
I'd find no relief in old mattresses
or a stranger's arms, while outside
trees shift uncomfortably, tossing leaves to the air.