i feel like an old car, broken down on the side of the highway.

with my crooked teeth. and my shitty eyes. my ancient, tender wrists, taking the weight of the sky upon themselves, only to fall apart at a moment’s notice.

i feel like a vintage dress, some days. paperthin and rigid. preserved in a box, far away from the sun, where nothing could ever hurt me. except myself, obviously. because that kind of loneliness… it eats you alive. ever so slowly.

i feel like a soft, tired hoodie, five dollars at the thrift store, and already starting to pill. but i will love you anyhow. for what it’s worth. i will hold you close to my chest for however long you have left; and i will bury you in the backyard. beside the family dog, and that fucking car. i’ll write another eulogy; sing it messy, and true.

i’ll let the skeletons tumble out of the closet.

let them say what they want to.