chunks

She steps over threads in my unravelled blanket. Occassionally snagging one, pulling new holes. She moves toward the head of my bed from the closet, and forces the breath from my chest with a jolt. I align the designs in her eyes with the ceiling, unwrap all the twine that still binds us both here. so that i might decide what to do with this feeling that makes me vomit empty comments into her ear. But her ears are plugged with woven rugs, and i am quite soft-spoken. My voice is lost before getting across her changes, chains stay unbroken. but losing touch with her was such that i have yet to care. i think of this as one last kiss adorns her tangled hair. i think of this as vomitus putrescence fills the air.