Open Windows

 the fever sold us to each other in bits and  pieces. the sickness wore us in long stares and soiled gowns. we're so fragile when we're waiting for something to happen. 

time never knew us the way that it should have. 

the truth never mattered. 

the miles accumulated. the years devoured. 

we sunk into our grief. content to let it drown us. 

i knocked on tomorrow's door, but it wouldn't let me in. 

i breathed on the glass. drawing my pictures in the fog. 

we shuffled the needles. we organized the blood. but it was still just lingering bruises and dirty bandages. 

i solved for the numbers. i resented the math. more eager to pick at the scabs rather than allow the wounds to scar. 

i became a stranger to myself. 

and that is who i still am.