backbone to barren floor, frigid -
chills to clammy skin
a gravity that sinks deep into the gut
you are drawn to low things
fallen fruit and dirt between the cracks
down and damned,
already
low voices clinging to cigarette stained walls,
you found comfort in your riven body being
far beneath brainwaves and scorching eyes
a safe haven in the fault lines that run
from the refrigerator to the stove
and in the smell of alcohol and Clorox mixed
all pulling you further in
the ones on foot can trample you, still
but you are a million cutting shards (broken)
this is why you chose the ground
flat-spined, invisible
down and damned,
already
S.
{Photo: Sbiaditoricordo Flickr}
