because i am deep in my undoing, 
unraveling my disdain for the self
i am awfully wet right now 
i am soaked through my clothes
i am trudging through

because i am busy reversing all of my unloving
yes, rewinding my embarrassment
it is hard to make a full sentence
it is hard to focus on anything, be it still or moving

because i am knee deep in my own heart

i just cant come outside right now

not yet. 

the solitude that death creates allows for a deep dissection of the heart. 
allows for one to make a cast of the skin, and set it aside for other use. 
or better, let it rest on their shrine in tribute and remembrance of the self. 
how she died. how we loved her.