Some days when I look at myself I just see a casket.
When I was empty I was pure but then filled I became putrid
I am a casket.
All I do is hold onto dead things,
things I should be able to let go of,
things that seep into my skin
I am a casket,
cluttered with loose bones throwing off sorrow
Like radiation into a world that did nothing to deserve my darkness.
Like I did nothing to deserve his hands
when I didn’t want to take it
when it wasn’t mine
when I didn’t do it.
He never asked a question I had an answer for.
He never answered a question I ever asked.
He never asked.
Now when I reach out to touch someone else
the poison leeches out from my skin into theirs.
It makes them sick at the thought of me,
it makes them see me the way I do,
I am a negative example.
I am a cautionary tale.
I am a corpse that hasn’t started rotting yet.