There is only this

A scavenger has scraped its way

through the back way when I didn’t notice.

Under the ribs, smashed through the chest,

It tried to forage for a heart that’s not there.

Every artery and stem of me

Alights on the fact that she’s not coming back.

 

There is only this: this absolute and utter opposite of bliss.

Insects crawling over my skull, inside and above,

I am empty, there’s no life left without her.

 

A hermit undercover, why can’t I

say how much I love her and miss her?

Salt on paper, ink blots on letters to ashes.

A blusher brush that smells of perfume.

A top I stole; cling on and hold on.

 

I am not very well. No one can tell

Because I am a good player of hide and seek.

My feelings are in the airing cupboard, in the towels,

Like a word with no vowels, I’m incomplete.

Resources depleted, I am a carcass.

Have nothing left.