I brush up against my own thoughts
when thinking of you.
How is it that I can move
so silently toward my grave
while smiling and laughing
at the top of my lungs?
What will you do to atone
for your life of self-indulgence?
When my thoughts touch my thighs
I bristle at their stiffness.
Their pricks remind me that you
are nowhere to be found–
only my memory of midnight
and the clattering of my sanity against
the floorboards beneath your bed.
I lay my head down now
and try not to think.