day 5: cave creature

Remember when I said, a few times I’ve said,

that there are days, long stretches sometimes, where

when I wake up in the morning,

or when I lay down for sleep in the late afternoon,

I just want to stay there and lay as still as the Veiled Christ

(except out of stone because I didn’t leave enough money for marble)

and let the moss make its home in the folds of my carved-wrinkled clothes

and let the vines creep up and over me and wrap me to my bed, never letting me loose?

Remember? 

she said to no one in particular.

She turned her head the other way and said again, 

Remember? 

to no one.
No one heard her. No one said

Jesus, here we go again with the vine-covered statue, we get it, you’re depressed.

No, not depressed, I might have depression, but I don’t want to self-diagnose, 

she shot back with a bullet that lost trajectory.



Teases the cub of a lion’s mane on her head,

It gets lonely when you don’t even have ghosts in the same space as you to talk to.

Kicks a random rodent bone as she gets up to go to the kitchen and it skitters across the linoleum,

No, I don’t care that I ended that sentence with a preposition, fuck it.

I feel less human the more I get used to my day ending past the witching hour.

I sleep with the moon,

she mutters as she lays her head on the pillow after finally getting some work done,

I want the moon. I am the moon.