bones, lying in a trunk at the foot of my bed   they're always open to show me that they're still dead   and everyday it's harder still   i am footed(?) and unfilled      pain, i'm good with the ways there are to erase   and i'm pancaked on the floor, you can't see my face   cuz it's buried like the moon   sober morning's come too soon      bruise, it's coming to the surface, like the vessel   it's been hidden for so long, you are the trestle   that's there to hoist me up   now this world without you is fucked      skin, and it's warm enough to hold you and keep you breathing   but it locks me out and makes me lose my needing   and how long to be alone   how will i carry these bones      and i'm so far from not caring