As you destroy your room in organization fits lit by a midnight moon, stripping the space as
naked as you felt and cleaning it as though you were cleaning your body
As you exuviate your weighted blanket at night because you want to dislike the way it feels like
someone wrapped around you and because you can’t shed your own skin
As you notch a hundred lines of code into your computer’s memory every night so you can build
some web of mathematical strings and fall into it like a tiny drop of dew, captured to be drunk by
something bigger
As you imprint notepads with the litter of words you wish he’d said to you and pollute
notebooks with the words you wish he hadn’t
As you accept every shift at work and “joke” that you can work on school days as long as
they’re off the books and you can hide from life behind the counter
As you let the answer to his text asking if you’re free this Friday send.
