Time

I have to pick myself up.

I have to do things that make me feel outside of my skin.

I pretend.

I enjoy watching people live lives I can’t live.

I pretend.

Books line the walls of Reese’s house.

Sisters play the piano for you while you sift through your dead aunts heirlooms in the attic. She kept all her pencils for you.

Scarves form shapes while they fall from the top of the stairs to the ground floor where I stand, next to you… blinking at your buttonless cuff.

Tear at my skin.

Pull at my hair

Eat of my bones.

Pick at my flesh.

I’m a faded scrap of urine soaked cloth.

And I want to grow whole.

Grinding teeth melt my eardrums and metal moves like water in my mouth.

I swallow.

Crouching. Our tabby laps up its milk.

Why does the tabby get the only positive attention in this shithole of a house.

Ill sow you a button on your cuff tomorrow when I have some time.