If I could write about what I’m feeling
How it is a vast ocean,
or an unending abyss.
How it drags my heart
to the floor and scratches its way out the door–
Not even with enough strength could open,
nor a light could seep its way in.
it is I digging my own grave,
and eating all the thorns on roses.
It is I weaving my own skin,
and burning it thread by thread.