Pack myself in my overnight bag

I start packing, zip up the body bag. I tell myself it’s two meaningless days gone by, that I’ve lost nothing.

Your touch breaks my skin and pieces chip off onto your fingertips. You kiss me like I’m your oxygen, when I’m only a vegetable. I feel what I’m supposed to feel- the burning, the ache, the cum between my legs.

I leave forty-eight of my hours piled high in your driveway. My shoulders lug what I pack away to make room for you, but I couldn’t care less if you stay.

If I keep myself small, there’s nothing left to mourn.