warning : its september and ill dissect you too

 its like the psychic wound that never heals

 little red strings pulling at my scalp as i 

 ready my gloves, yes, 

 this was your cabinet once

 (much messier though,)

 you stood where i am standing

 but you're gone now

 what does, oxford taste like, i wonder

 i picture you in basketball shorts

 in front of a starry, bright sky

 im standing here in your old

 lab coat with a crucible 

 you held in your hands once

 i grip it with my cold, rubber hands now

 (your hands fit in these gloves better,

 they fit in me better)

 i could've counted the months

 on the stitches on the back

 of your hand, like an ekg, like

 the rise and fall of a mountain

 now its just 

 algorithms and code

 a machine feeding off of 

 my needs and emotions

 putting you in my

 recommended, search, view, swipe

 making me miss you

 (this is a lie, its all me)

 you're surely watching a 

 setting sky now

 thinking about what's for dinner

 and where you'll sleep tonight

 im standing over a worm

 split open

 metal spikes holding

 its skin open up to me

 flayed false vulnerability

 i think mighteve cut the worm too deep

 its organs are severed now

 is this how you saw me, i wonder

 laying down with my chest 

 opened for you

 were you just

 not hungry?