Catalyst

Needle on my

Skin:

I

Saved it for the

Stitching--

For some fine
Surgery

[Though
I'm still
Apprehensive].

I'm a 

Record on repeat--

And none of me is

Matching.

I make potions
Of my body:

Pray to God
I'm still
Bewitching.

I hang lifeless from

A tree 

Of all the thoughts

That

Still outweigh me.

I gorge until
I'm 

Empty;

Mourn the
Idols
That can't
Save me.