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there’s a joke that the inside of your skin is wet and warm
meant to breed disgust, desire to pull it back and stare at the gore
womb-like, your origin story
but all i feel in here is cold, detached, devastation
a land mass flayed by grief
“the only way out is through” but i’m treading water thicker than blood
pulling at my heels with every step forward
fractured consciousness. am i here? can you reach me? fingers tapping on glass
i inhabit this vessel, no intention to leave it
but the lights are off in this house
(you once called me your lighthouse, draped in fog born of hesitation)
i feel for surfaces on instinct - kitchen table, bathroom sink, keys to the car
what if i never feel like a home again?
post my milk carton picture
see if i come back a lover or a fighter
About the Creator
M.B. Arthur
Immersive loves & lifetimes - I write to heal what hurts.
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Comments (2)
So sad .... lights off in this house. Hope the light comes!!
Nice writing keep it up!!!