it was easier to pour out my soul when it wasn't stuffed black,
when my pillows were soft and i still had eyelashes.
i wish that i could pull my ribs apart and dip fingers in
with nails still white and teeth still sharp, and that i could
scrape off the edges and swiftly pull forth
a sentence, godammit,
and encase the nightmares that fester within.
a gentle surgery, and gentler nights.
here was a soul that was easily cleaned, and a mouth with a jaw easily unhinged,
and sewing thoughts into words was much simpler when
i had thread left over.
go on, darling,
peer deep inside.
do tell me what you find in there.