Unexplained Sadness

The void uses your body
as a cave,
a hiding place
when the first second guess
creeps in.

It fills you, deep,
the way a lover might be able
if you let them close enough
to touch you,
if you didn’t feel the urge
to bathe yourself when their
hands make contact.

You don’t trust,
Not even yourself.
Your tongue is too coarse
and you eyes are too raw
and you wonder if the hate
you feel for yourself
is as palpable on your skin
as is the dryness of winter.
The way everything smooth
shrivels into something other.

The empty
holds you like a home.
The ugly kisses your cheeks
like a child,
promises to nourish you away
from awe,
talks about misplacing your wonder
as if it were a toy
to go back in the box.

The sunshine
is grey here.

The bed feels so big
when you cry.


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