Written by Anon
I don’t need a therapist to know that
I am nailed to my naked mattress
Contained by bare walls, teeming with rodents that scatter
In my hollow, empty insides.
If you ask them nicely enough,
They’ll tell you secrets of derelict photographs and ashes of diaries from 2003
The mice will tell you I am cracked at my spine
Chest cleaved
All the way open so that my heart is on display for the world
Ribs stone-cold
And an expired voice existing like a phantom in the caves of my ears
The familiar weight in my right hand
Is the only thing sustaining me right now.
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