i eat,
and it eats with me.
i love,
and it sits between our mouths.
i sleep,
and it coils beside me,
breathing slower than death.

i thought time
would soften it—
turn it into mist
or memory.
but it is bone,
still lodged.
and splintering.

no one sees it anymore.
only i
feel the rot under my ribs,
the way my voice cracks
on ordinary words.

i live,
but not all the way.
i laugh,
but not from the center.

grief wears my face now.
and sometimes
i can’t remember
what i looked like
before it moved in.