all I can tell you is that is my fingernails are bit down to the bed again and I've been calling back the telemarketers to listen to the dial of the phone and hear what's for sale— even the one that calls for my insurance number, forewarning me of a cease in coverage. I'm not sure when the gnawing started again, whose teeth are sharpened, or how to pace the appetite. I'm not sure how I got put on this caller's list or what part of me was insured— just that there is blood on the dial numbers from where my fingers kissed the notes to hear the ringing tone, and I wonder in leisure when this habit will end—the way you realize it'd been a month since you listened to your favorite song. now, I can hardly remember the melody.
Oh, My Word! Olivia would love to hear from you after reading this poem. Leave a comment below!
Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesday
Hit “Like” if you enjoyed the post, and don’t forget to subscribe!