Every morning,
I lay in bed,
with my eyes sewn shut,
summoning some more sleep,
seeking the delightful delusion,
that you are beside me,
in the kind moments
between sleep and death,
where I am not awake enough,
to send my dreams away.
When you are gone,
entirely,
my eyes are open,
and I begin butchering myself,
taking a token from my trembling body,
to send to your door,
same day delivery,
of my soul,
my thoughts
the freckles on my shoulders,
the colour of my eyes.
I am showering you,
with myself,
remembering the crossed off dates,
on my calendar,
when I fell asleep,
before your adoring eyes,
your candied conversation
sending me to sweet dreams.
I kneel before old diary pages,
demanding answers
to questions I cannot vocalise,
because the words are razors,
rushing up and down my throat,
until all I have is strangled sobs.
I make a wish.
I choke on blood.
I read my cards.
I am ready to sleep,
now.
