What Was Left Behind

 Don't let me in.

This heart has grown

into a feral thing,

all wide eyes

and clicking jaw.

i am made of edges

and tapered bones

of the ashes of what 

was left behind;

not something 

you can hold.

Not something 

you should love,

even if you could.

Not everything that grows is worth holding; not everything that twists its way between your ribs is a sign of life.