Jessi McKellar


Face down in a pool of you,
I filled my lungs with stained
glass and glue. Hold hold hold
your breath.

Jealous of the flies and fish
who die while no one looks on, I
try to suck the ink out of existence
but end up with blackened teeth and
a headache.  

I tried for you, filling silence with
a dried-out marker, following the
lines I didn’t believe in yet.

Finding comfort in merely being,
searching for unlocked closets to hang
my soggy brain out to dry like
dying flowers from a gas station
cheap sentimental somethings that
whisper at my muted ears—

I fell harder inside myself,
continued to crouch in the fog of my ribcage while
such soft hands held my head down
under the covers:
I love you, you know that,

back to contents