hotel mirror

i am an asterisk on the bed, an aster just picked,
hovering over your shoulder with my hands full
of caveats–the truth is, it was never easier
to lie to myself than when i knew i was right
about how much i wanted to fabricate an alternative
to these days where i don’t belong to myself,
never wanted myself, and yet can’t imagine wanting
anything different. a cluster of stars in the pit
of my stomach that give me heartburn will eventually
die one day and then i’ll be sucked back into myself,
complete in my own vast emptiness. if only all of life
were just a matter of physics–my words just free-fall
back up into my mouth when i try to vomit them out
where the lightness of evisceration is not an illusion.

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