i’m sick and unsick and not sick enough to die

i’m so sick of being skin

so i want—no, demand

no hands to plant

on no thighs to fatten

and no eyes to water

no, no heart to fertilize

nor stomach to feed

nor feet to wonder

all that flesh and shit can fill a petty pit and live forever six feet


this isn’t a deathwish but a ghostwish

i want to be footless and footloose

and free from all this fucking flesh

i’m tired of standing up

and of the gravity that chalks my bones up, too

when the world could be the one who has to chock up my gravestone

against the ground’s grave and greedy weight

because the world in its grey grief waits for me to fill it

so can i be a ghost already

i want to be the empty spot that the world cannot fill