Dear Reader

I am on a train back home from Boston where I have died

I slow down as the train speeds up

Breathing in annal conversations behind me to lessen the dread of going back home as a corpse

Pretty as it may be

I guess I should practice smiling

Practice shaping the vowels on my lips

Letting them slip cleverly yes I am okay

I can't let them know I am burning inside and out

That my skin feels like sandpaper rubbed over concrete

How I stab myself in the stomach with empty dormitory keys in the bathroom stall

To open myself and force those tarmac covered bugs he kissed into me

Crawl out and fall on their backs helpless showing their soft bellies