crabs don’t scream

361px-Typewriter_adler6

The heart is small

Hoveled up in a shell

Greets the outside world with snipping claws.

I want to take every essay and run it backwards

through the typewriter of my brain, mechanical teeth tread holes

into every inked caterpillar,

my own words embalmed around the carcasses of others’,

backwards, so no one

can read either of our voices.

If one is going to fall into an endless dark pit, it is nice to know

that someone else is also tumbling

to their mind’s death.

And the pages like feathers

fly up and stick

to the shoes of people above, glued by blood and mud and spent chewing gum.

I promised myself I would never force another word into this world

Now I need an abortion

My hermit crab cowers dinkily

my polluted body rains debris starlike

No room in this heart for your story

Shut up and let me

be silent

640px-Coenobita_clypeatus_hiddenImage credits in order of appearance:

CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=565790

By ZooFari – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8805143

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