maybe it'll wear off, maybe there'll be an eclipse

the flight of the bird in the egg, your heart rattling in your chest. (it just wants to shake its wings a little. it just wants its feathers caught in something other than the bridge of your brittle ribcage. it just wants to shake off the arteries like hot air balloon tethers and float float float until it finds a happier home, maybe in the poconos.)

i tell it to shh, shh but i am just an outline of something that could be worth listening for and my breaths and hums and sighs are just books you've already read, just static on the am radio.