Broken Bones

There are nights when the shadows are burning holes in a piece of paper and there's lack. Lack, of a lot of things, like bones. They hide beneath papery skin but they hold oh so much together. Until they break, and pierce through decency and normalcy. All is protruding and sharp angles and street signs are bent and streets curve confusing lines into my eyes. I am lost in nothing, too much.

I'm lying on the floor staring into the ceiling, seeing through it into the sky. I want to see the bones, all that's missed. The marrow inside bones, that hurts to find. If I pretend the stars are shining metallic spheres could I touch them and not burn, could they be real and spill upon my floor as glittering marbles and then I could be one too.

There is an absence, of you. And I attempt forgetting, filling my mind with silly frilly things that are like foam within empty walls, but they just create more space and you fill me in. I have become the ache of the sky pulled from beneath my feet, like a current from the frigid depths. I look for you, maybe you are a marble spilled among the rest, but I forget you are the air and I cannot elude you. And I miss you.