maybe the mop

maybe the mop? there’s soot everywhere it’s under my nails and under my soul where I shoved that self I swore to punish

don’t you see

don't you see: there's enough alienation in the world as is - we don't need yours too

me, myself, and I

what do I feel?

I resent how safe my self isolation makes me feel and yet how it also makes me sick.

maybe it won't swallow me, my grief, or maybe it will.

digest it digest your disappointment don't let it sit.

armed you arrive at this place but to your terror you discover your beloved weapons have no power here

the most ethical thing we can be is really ourselves

someday soon, maybe