Vacancy

Waking up

For the fifth or twelfth time

And the hole in my chest hasn’t healed

It won’t

I can stick my hand through

35 layers of me

No blood anymore

I just count the layers

Not as reassurance or reminder

But ritual

I just pull my tank and tee and sweater and coat over the hole

People might faint or vomit at the sight

Of where my heart should be. 

I tried to tell them it’s easier. 

It’s easier this way. 

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