welcome to a killjoy's haven

i dig into my flesh with clawed hands
crush my organs
break my ribs apart in my palms
until bone fragments fall from my fingers
like sand returning to the sea

and i've finally found the word
that i've been looking for all this time:
brittle. 
i feel brittle. 

it tastes bitter on my tongue, 
like milk gone sour
or old meat

but i'm not fragile or delicate, 
not thin-boned or carefully structured
i am a being of no making but my own

and i'm riddled with too much pressure, 
bearing down on my back
and weighing down my muscles
until they unwind and unravel, 
lead paths to my gut, 
little hansel and gretel's bread crumbs

and deep in there, where no light ever touches, 
my organs lie, 
below my crushable ribcage,
speared with splintering wood
and sharpened stone

because i do not know where i'm going. 
i am breaking apart in pieces, 
chipping away at the space between my heart and my spine, 
book pages curled where there is air, 
trying to fill what cannot be filled. 

and so i go, 
trying endlessly to make myself a solid whole, 
someone you can knock on 
and not hear their torso ring silver

crosses carved into my marrow, 
where people have tried to sew religion into me 
but the stitches always come undone
and i am left pulling a string from my flesh and blood

because i've never believed in anything but pain
and the way my heart beats slow like molasses in the winter -
this is the way the world falls. 

The End

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