Don't go into the basement, I forget what I buried there. I'm trying to make myself whole again with the pieces left. I don't know where I'm going just not here.
At night I unmake the steps I took to forget you. I find you in my palms and in my hair and in my curtains and in old shirts and at the bottom of bottles.
I try to hold myself together but my hands are paper cups and hurt leaks out the bottom. Have to watch for quick movements, get out first, keep love narrow, keep my sleeves down and my head low.
My body has been haunted for a long time now. My knees hurt from tripping over the broken bones and my ankles creak like old stairs and if I open my mouth too wide I can still taste the blood.
