UNBLOOMING

I suffocate on passing days.

Brain shriveling, mid-sentence at the white fist inside my chest.

I pick on the acne across my chin. Scratch on the mounting pus.

Fill in the sparsity of my brows before going about the day.

I convince my wheezing laugh in the wardrobe.

Mind shriveling, I get laughed at when leaves rustle.

I pick on the hem of my skirt. Scratch on the scabbing stain.

Must empty the jar up my neck after collecting today.

I pick up the dead mouse between them hardbound.

Body shriveling, worms mid-action in decaying stink.

I pander to their needs and get lost in mellifluous rain.

I am, once again, some undead in my head.

In veritable sky, take out the familiar garbage.

Heart shriveling, I talk until I’m full of myself.

I pick on my name. Scratch the pus and mud it comes with.

Can I empty the jar up my neck in the morning?

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