soon the world will stop changing shape so quickly beneath my feet that i can't ever find a safe place to stop. the sporadic nature of trying to eat love like hand grenades. i'll sit still and silent with empty hands. graft skin to skin transmutations that you left. the contusions and cursory burns marking the map of the wrong way. we. the badly dubbed foreign film version that became the conversations of us spilt like hot coffee on white bedsheets. the stinking aftermath of the good news that i won't wake up to tune of my alarm clock and loneliness. stumbling to fill pockets full of the fragments of the spotted remnants of myself.