Someone's Something

I am no longer someone's something and
I have always been someone's something

Mostly in the evening,
when silence fills this new home,
I am frenzied
Craving to fill my head, my bed, my heart, my body
with anything other than this acute,
pus-ridden,
rattled emptiness

I do not recognize this panicked creature,
clawing the walls of the universe in withdrawal,
desperate for distraction

I want to scream,
"But who am I now?"
which smacks of histrionics and annoyance
even to my ears

Cannot articulate
that this is so much more than hollow
Hollow implies a nature-born intention
Trees have hollows

This,
this is man-made, gut-wrenched,
melon-balled, wires ripped unceremoniously from
the innards of a broken toy

I could pace the floors of this home nightly with no one the wiser
No yellow wallpaper holding in the crazy
No witnesses if pacing turned to crawling

Perhaps, there's the crux
More than not being someone's something
is that I am now the unobserved beast

Not sure what life is when it goes unremarked upon

I am sure, somewhere in this, there is liberation

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