My worth

The termites were inside before I noticed. Chewing through door, frame, meaning. I touched the wall and felt it hollow. Felt myself hollow. Home was never real just a place rot hadn't reached yet. Ants marched through what I left behind: crumbs, dead skin, broken sleep. They weren't pests. They were witnesses. The only ones who never looked away. I didn't decay; I dissolved. Grief seeped through me like old water through cloth. Some days, my body wept without tears. Some nights, I vanished inch by inch. not alive, not dead, just held hostage by breath. So let them come. Let them gorge. Let them take what was never held. If I am nothing else, at least I fed something that didn't lie.