by Poet on the Piano   Dec 31, 2020

I've been inviting you in
far too often;
I already feel your
preliminary effects,
stilted suffocation
of emotion
under the guise of
properly working organs -
living in a body not yet
shuttered from despair and
December dark.

I wish for sharp angles
of moonlight and nausea,
to obscure any memories
that once offered stability,
so I learn not to lean
on gravity.

The gravestones on my hips
protrude, and whenever I move,
even the slightest of reaches,
I'm reminded of you.

You're everything I never
knew would plague my

You call me
without directions, without a name
and somehow, I understand.
You're the same tidal wave,
a cyclical hurricane pulling
at my chambers,

only this time,

I don't have an echo
to leave behind.


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