Thunk. Thunk.

You drag me by my hair
About the house.

This is a

You shuck me from my skin
And lick;

You toast to my good health and

You are,
Marrow, that occasionally

Dim ghost you

In the merry-go-round of
Myself you

Are garbage,
Putrid embrace that never moves

From my face; a smother,
Like a drink,

Making taste
—Smell, is a memory,

That never leaves they say.

You linger in the doorway as
Never fully here but never fully


When in the bed,
I lay,

Frozen in shape and I


You must
Go now.

But even in death,
You are never

Far away.

Always just
One knock,

From entering.

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