At night,
my feelings crawl
out my mouth
and sit at the end
of my bed.
They pull themselves
out my belly,
slowly, so I don’t
wake up.
They let me rest at night
and dream without them.
Every morning
I devour them
with desperation.
They settle inside me
like rocks,
and weigh me down
for the rest of the
day.
I eat my feelings
because I don’t want to
move from here.
I don’t know anything
else.