sometimes bodies become so entwined that there are too many ankles and too many limbs and too much artifice and breathing and hands reaching down into pockets for something. sometimes bodies wake in the middle of the night and their extremities are numb, and they lie there, just like death, but breathing. sometimes it is easier to deal with grief from the other side of the world, away from all the armpats and caring, people wanting to make sure that you are going to BE OKAY. maybe this is the end of everything though, maybe there is no okay and our numb limbs are permanent. sometimes it is easy to sit down and wait but there is nowhere to go inside of that, no hidden room at the back or under the stairs. my heart feels dead to all of this, so that i am responsible for it, so that i am trying to fit it all inside my skin, write all the histories responsibility onto the backs of my palms and then press them to my face. i want to swallow all of it. let them be the things that drive me. swallow all of it unchewed and wait until my belly is full.