I've got a cupboard with cans of food,
filtered water, and pictures of you
and I'm not coming out until this is all over.
And I'm looking through the glass
where the light bends at the cracks
and I'm screaming at the top of my lungs
pretending the echoes belong to someone,
someone I used to know
and we become silhouettes
when our bodies finally go
I want to walk through the empty streets
with something constant under my feet,
but all the news reports recommended I stay indoors
because the air outside will make
our cells divide at an alarming rate
until our shells simply cannot hold all our insides in,
and that's when we'll explode,
and it won't be a pretty sight
and we'll become silhouettes
when our bodies finally go
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