It's been four years and I've collected nothing,
Collated and contributed nothing. Not one
Word was useful and even this is fucking awful.

Soulless ironless seams of my body
Coming apart when your fingers pry and seek
Meaning that might be accumulating behind my ears.

But I'll wake up
One afternoon in a year or three
And feel the noon sun on my neck and
Regret hating everything about you and me.