the clinking of forks and spoons forms an echo in my head, i miss a part of me like a lock with a forgotten key. and i can’t remember anything. it’s the clink. it’s almost like a parasite, a pair of hands. every time i look into the mirror i can’t see myself, can't think of myself. i am missing parts, more than one. i can tell its wolfing out of me. now. right now. i want to fight but my fists are weakened. i can’t shut it out. so afraid i can't tell. so paranoid these pages will say. a jar of conditional love inches away from fall. castle inside of a rotten lung. ice cold under 40 sheets & mirrors that are blank don’t scare me. what scares me is that this will dim out. the clink would stop. and when i'm reaching for that jar, its breaking would stop. the silence scares me. darkness doesn’t.
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