I’m the lopsided door the wind can’t open,
the chipped cup in the beggar’s hand,
the snow that becomes dirty ice in moonlight
and the scattered leaf pile you spent hours raking.
I’m the car crash burned in your eyeballs,
the purple marks from endless sleepless nights,
the knot in your stomach that never surrenders
and the bile you wipe from the toilet seat.
I’m the tear-stained pillow you sleep with,
the permanent mark on your living room couch,
the spidery cursive in the letter you burned
and the monster gasping under your bed.