They are all the times
i’ve been put away on a back shelf
and collected dust.
All the times my heart has shattered
onto the pages of my notebook and
sullied my fingers black.
They are the words
I carve onto the pages instead
of into my skin.
All the times I have felt
my heart was burning in the night sky
instead of in my chest.
The times I have stood still
among hives of buzzing,
undulating people.
When I have been sitting
on my own bed,
and still felt I wasn’t home.
When I feel so restless in
my own skin
that I swallow rainbows so I may
dissolve into darkness and wake up
forgetting.
Silenticel 