I do all of my hating in bed
lying next to you.
The two of us back to back,
like slices of peanut butter and
jelly-less bread.
We are always lying, to each other
But this has nothing to do with you:
I feel close to no one.
And the socket between my ribs
is full of Poprocks.
I left my heart in Insert location here ;
I don't know what I mean.
Maybe all I need are softer pillows.
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