We will become silhouettes

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 wanted to walk though the empty streets
and feel something constant under my feet,
but all the news reports
recommended that 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