months ago, i stopped dusting and watched my corpse begin to swallow the house.
a swirl of my skin in the light every morning. too fine to catch in my hand.
the layers built themselves up around me.
unconfident and shaking.
pale grey towers of old and of dead.
i wonder what parts of me might be gathering in the corner.
what former leg or foot or arm or breast
has sloughed itself among spiderwebs to resettle.
i wonder if that is where my words have gone.
if my lashes brushed off my muse and scattered it across the pillowcase.
if poems were picked out from under my nails or scrubbed clean in the shower.
creeping over every surface. piling higher. abandoned skin
whispering of nerves they used to know.
verses they hid from me.
i live in it now.
i let my body float around me.
i live in unspoken.
i let myselves rest.
