Syrup
I can find salvation in the sticky syrup
that leaks from my ribcage
churning out melodies of healing
riddled in exaggeration of consultation,
wearing my spine like a cast
shouting to the void that I’ve been damaged
shaving off inches of myself to build a pedestal
I can pretend I enjoy standing on
feeding myself to kill my appetite
killing the parts of myself that feed my soul
2018