the tiny seam of my existance, that seals me up against the world
popped
and now my stuffings are coming out in clumps
puffy, they smell like sawdust and hayseed
and freshly mown meadows
the needle and thread are lost, i can't repair the rip, i'm wilting
stop!
don't collect the fluff and hide it in your pocket
matted, they'll compress like cheap pillow fillings
and begin to reek of your body
the frayed edges of my seam have spider-threads, twisting against the wind
chopped
i use my teeth to rip them out; i'm tired of looking worn
cram the stuffings back in, if you really love me, dear
or i'll float away
No comments:
Post a Comment