I live inside a skeleton,

The bones rust and creak.

At night they’re even louder

Underneath familiar feet.

I know the nooks and crannies

As easy as it is to breathe,

I walk like an enlightened one

With no torch unsheathed.

The bones have bent with time,

And dust gathers along the ribs.

The scars are filled with plaster,

Too old and dry to drip.

A flood bursts through the cartilage,

Unstoppable and stinging.

A scream of terror bursts inside,

Its high pitched anxiety ringing.

The floor becomes unsteady

As unknowable as the sky.

When I stumble in the darkness,

All I can ask is why.

Why must I leave my bones behind

For strange squirrels to feast on?

Why must my ribs be broken down,

And tied up with a ribbon?

I cannot see the bits of flesh

That once clung to columns strong.

All that’s left is brand new clothes

That fit the shape all wrong.

I lived inside a skeleton,

An old friend since the first day,

But now my footsteps echo

And I pray the sound will stay.