Home is Where the Heart Decays

cracked & weary bones crumble
arising from ashen destruction, a you I know not of
you’re not the butterflies playing my ribs like piano
you’re not heavy tempo heart beats
keeping me from feeling that that breath would be my end

you are glistening fishing sinkers and I the
worm on your hook
You are the salt and I am a strung salmon
meant to be seasoned

you’re not butterflies playing my ribs
you’re knives bypassing liquefied bones
you’re not
but you still live inside wastelanded chest cavities, and instead
of being scared of you I call you home