february

it reads like a complete story, 

the stages and emotions are perfectly sequential

it wasn’t mine to throw away, and I realize that now.

I still feel bad about it, I’m sorry, so sorry

when the body becomes one with the earth,

the spirt passes on, finally free from it's shackles

so can you cut me open and help me release what’s stuck inside

the sour rotten mess that’s festering below 

everything marinates and spoils, the sick dries out on the concrete.