there’s a song  
  in my ribs  
 that only plays when I lie  

  I used to hum it  
 during the 3AM walks  
 along Broker’s graffiti walls  
 knees skinned from  
 falling into  
   people  

the guy with the buzzcut  
 told me I smelled like  
 clove and  
 longing  
  he never texted back  
 but I saved the napkin  

the ghost of who I was  
 flickers  
 behind gas station glass  
and I leave  
 without change  

-Ren