Estate Sale

It's too early to hang our heads,
 Sunken eyes set in,
 Under your skin,
 I'm counting ways to make a mess of things
 Things I say that I don't mean are catching up with me
 In a sweet charade, an iron gate playing a fence
 I might end up entering
 What is space not meant to see
 Hallways misinforming you, all the while
 I'm clearing spaces on shelves, helps me find it
 Misery, estate sale digging on a Saturday
 Got sick of dining alone
 It gnaws at the bones and sinews
 With marrow crushing your teeth
 Stuck on the outside looking in through window panes
 Tangled up, solid chains
 Buried in coffee cans
 No rest for anyone following the grave
 Makes you sick to your stomach
 I might end up entering
 Misery, estate sale digging on a Saturday