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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