day 13: nah.

Behind my sternum is a well of water and an empty cavern.

All my magnets have lost their opposites,

all my threads have seen scissors or come untied on the other end.

There's likely a honeycomb built into my ribs,

but they stay there.

All around the outside of the cage is cobwebs.

My skull--

I'm writing and I'm writing and nothing is happening.

I feel so full of nothing.

I can't even slide down the spiral,

so I stay floating.

This poem was handstitched together with no motor skills.

I hate days like this.