Carcass.

You knew me as a blithe
bird,
fluttering around,
bestowing joy in silly
thought patterns.

This week, you peeled
off my layers.
I unfolded in front of you
while you held my arms
steady...

but none of that was
real.

If I speak,
it's in the key of
fiction.
Of dreams I can't
recover from.

I can't trust
anyone
for too long;
they will betray
my depth

so I will mince
my words
until

every thought
has rotted,
before it can ever reach
my throat.