Preserve

She sits,
sits in her jar
hunched and molded against its rigid
shape
she wants them far, out
while they try to break in
sealed herself in this vessel
shut tight
air stale
untouched.
There is a coldness that touches her skin
A fragment of her heart, a silver sliver
she uses
to scratch the words of solace
on the surface
for herself
and those like her.
Yet nobody comes because they have left.
Isolated in this empty shell
even her own presence
seems to
cease to
exist.