they are all sick.

you are plague

i slide incomplete thoughts under tinfoil fingernails
and wish in fragments tonight.
the sound of your breath is a cadence
to which i fall apart
and my pieces land on your skin
like broken scabs
of loss.
every moment i want to scream
because my voice is decaying
at the speed of light
alongside your heartbeat.

i am fever

a symptom against faded machinery
a system within a system within you
i never stand but crumple
into myself.
half-closed my eyelashes are a screen
and i make believe
i can see reality through them.
i make you believe
you can see me
and i make myself believe
i can too.