turning off the faucet:

it is 2:40 am 
and my heart has slammed itself in
with wooden shutters 
covered in dust 

and sunk 
into my chest 
pressed up against my 
spine rather than my sternum 

I think I'm out 

empty 
and shoved into the gap 
between window panes 

rather than rapidly expanding 
into the night sky 

I am sinking
through the floorboards 
and dripping into the kitchen sink 

its 2:49 am 
and I have packed 
everything in my chest 

into carefully labeled 
cardboard boxes 

and shoved them 
into the back corner 
of my closet 

where the 
doubt haunting 
my finger tips 

spins conspiracy theories 
about 
the things people whisper 
when I've sunk to the bottom of the pool

its 2:52 am 
and my fingernails 
are still long
and pushing into the creases 
in my palm 

where I hide the 
secrets i have forgotten throughout 
the years 

and my collarbones get stuck 
when i spend 6 hours 
folded in on myself 
like silk 

admiring the pictures 
held up by 
peeling scotch tape 

it is 3:01 am 
and I'm still out