Corn chips don't crack
under the weight your feet make
when you step on my heart.
I don't support the force of your anger
or care.
Candy-wrappers don't crinkle
in your fists
when you tear pictures of us apart.
Words once spoke are still legible
but the snake has shed its skin.
And creases don't puncture my clarity
in the song that tells our story
because when you drop pianos on my head
it doesn't even matter...
because ghosts
can't
feel
solid...
even if they try.

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