Aptly called a rescue dog,
filed under white noise
there was only a thousand different ways
that I could've fallen under your spell.
 

this seat, on a sunken iron lung
in the abyssal, clawing cold
a bog of wet denim on laundry day.
It's here, gateless and voiceless
I'll sit and wait for you to find me
knowingly pressing my cheek into my knees
fitting smaller and smaller into the space you saved for me,
a nothing; a one-time fancy
a dusted-over collectible
pushed into the back of your life as you grew up
moved away without me, touching base on christmas over tea.
(I hate hot drinks, but my heart leaps when your delicate hands pass close to me)

my own hand through my hair, a cheap emulation
a dream chasing a dream
with bottomless resolve
until it's my day to dissolve
irrelevant as those salty-stained polaroids I clutch 
folded away between my veins, coveting 
stealing them from even myself.