Eaten
The mirrors and furniture are sheeted.
Love has eaten me up
like a fancy box of chocolates
now completely gone.
My phone is clean off the hook.
Voices carry emotion
and always the opinions, opinions, opinions.
Nobody can worm their way in now.
Hell is not going to break
its way through to me.
I sit utterly quiet with my hand placed
on my stomach.
This is how somebody will find me-
as calm as a glass vase
in the cupboard at midnight.
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