there is nothing inside. a hollow body, like a knock on lauan tacked to a frame. i will be, up late tonight. seeing the moon set, sun burning her on his way up. the hollow (un)hallowed body. a body, cells & all the things bigger than them. a slice of cake with melty ice-cream. smoke, fiery dried bits rolled up in a soggy paper, twisted ends with foam. filled with smoke. piercing haunts, a halloween soundtrack. a morphine lemonade dream. a disgusting taste that I can't stop tasting, a mis-directed hope. should the pin be pulled, dropped at my feet. blow another hole inside the hole i'm in. let's go, let's save the date, let's set an alarm. everyone is the same. maybe all we want to know has already been written, but sometimes the book is checked out & there's a waiting list. and sometimes two weeks isn't long enough to finish.
it's spring and the moths are back, eating the wool carpet in my bedroom. i'm a splendid girl but i'm hollow inside. and when i'm full it's with wool.
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