slip off my skin
and look inside

do you think my bones are pretty?
chalk white, moon-like,
they piece my body together
now that my heart has stopped pumping blood
i’ve gone cold beneath the freckled constellations on my chest

tie my arms up behind my head
until my wrists are raw and weeping
next to rotting food we didn’t eat
while the dogs scream in the backyard
and the radio in the window vomits pop songs
i wonder if this is what love is like

Rachel Haas is a writer living in the Midwest and always dreaming of somewhere else. She has a degree in journalism, but now mostly fills her time with short stories, poetry, horror movies and coffee. She thanks you for reading, and hopes you have a good day. Find her on Twitter @haasrachel.