I saturated my skin
With prophesies--
Alabaster ink.
Some good, some
some good, some
some good,
sum
bad.
The freckles on my thighs--
Oh, I'm erasing.
I am the rubber friction
Between my skin and the cheek of
the paper.
Inept,
Wavering,
And cut.
Put down your defenses [Dear, Whoever it is I was].
I think you were washed away in baptism.
Cut off like a writhing limb
Too
Restless to find a tomb.
This feels like my jaws are wired shut.
My nailbeds
Feel fucked up
Too.
