"(r)ust"

afterward,
she sits up in bed and stares, bare like shattered glass with
burnished knives for elbows recklessly penetrating the sheets.
indifferently glistening, you'd think she'd rust.
sharp angles of bone and ash mechanize a heavy exhale:
"I don't believe in anything."
and when I stare harder into everything I've ever known,
I can't believe in anyone.