I have left my lungs in a box wrapped in crinkled paper
and slid under the bed
because every time I breathe it hurts
and I think it is because there is nothing
no desire left
the air inside.
My heart has deflated and sits half smashed in the dark and small space hollowed out in my chest
like a nectarine left in the bottom of a vegetable drawer too long
hidden under pizza boxes and losing its juice and color
running and slicking into something sweetly foul….
I sleep with your letters close to hand so that the pain and I don’t have to wait for reuniting each hard won morning.
Like a sore tooth I must keep pressing knowing that the hurting only ends when we are finally torn apart and I am afraid there will only be shredded Kleenex to fill the gap,
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