i don’t know but i but i’ve been
enthralled with anatomy textbooks since i was a girl and i’ve always
thought it would be delicate, somehow, to have
tattoo needles trace other skeletons onto my own,
emblazon me with the teeth of extinct species,
explicate this sweaty contemporaneity and wire together
a preservation of imagined once-perfection.
some things stay some things do stay the movement of
a score of a stomach of a sadness and i always told myself
the worst of things.
hitting breaking screaming conflicting,
hurting so i could hate myself want myself dead without
consume imbibe poison. eat the rock in your hand.
eat the food from the ground, lick the
frozen pole just once just to have someone else speak for you,
another shot please no yes i’ll be sick yes i want to be sick oh i
hope i get sick tonight i hope i finally fucking
drink ink drink lotion drink shampoo find everything that doesn’t go
down easily and make yourself a cocktail stare at it.
take five advil for no reason because your blood craves something and
you don’t yet know what.
skin is rubbersoft hard and it hurts to have hair it hurts to have blood
it hurts to feel like to feel like to feel like to feel.
my tongue fills my whole mouth i was always picking at my lips at my
nose my skin eroding myself gently peeling away until i could be only
the bones like the exhibits in the neverending hallways the ones where
i would stay for hours where i wished i could live where i was nobody but
an observer or an outsider and i never felt like i belonged here now progressing in
a self a form and and and to have a body is to have a stake in the narrative, so i just