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
Image 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