I am the skeleton in your closet
Tucked between the shirt from the concert we went to
On top of my painted sneakers
Stained with whatever color makes you think of me
You wore my crossbones around your neck, sheltering you from the debris of any sleepless night
And I am left there to hang from noose that you wrapped in a red bow
Like a present with no receipt
My ribs craved in from tight hugs
Flesh disintegrating, becoming the dirt beneath your fingernails
There is no tombstone written with my name
No words of condolences
Not even a funeral
My obituary was never spoken
Instead, I am shoved in a tight space, barely even breathing from collapsed lungs
There is no blood flowing through me but memories that keep me going
When you are gone, I open the door and trace the remains of any signs that I existed
There are so few
My skull is cracked from the blunt force trauma that I called “us”
And somehow my boney figure tucks itself back into your closet before you come home
Waiting for a sign of life
Waiting to never be taken out of this coffin
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