[Bodey]

I pick at my lips until they bleed, until the whites of my fingernails turn black.
I rip and lick away the deed and wait a day for them to crack.
And repeat.
Self-quarantined inside my ears, away from a world that’s lost their minds.
My thoughts grow swampy this time of year, maybe the world is safe from mine.
I’ve built houses of arguments that never took place,
confusing holiday ribbons with orange and white snakes.
That getaway rental in Martha’s Vineyard, swaying on stilts that have rotted inward.
I don’t have to touch it to get a splinter; the memories squatting bludgeons the picture
Happier times, I guess. That thing stole words from my breath.
Wrapping a vine around my neck, poisonous herbs come enmeshed
But it’s quiet now.
Eye of the storm? Or had it already hit?
I look around, and the reflection of the water says I’m sorry as shit.
Usually it’s louder, but today my shaky hands clutches onto a stick.
I smile. Because the jagged end drips with something darker.
It’s gonna be awhile before I can paddle any farther
So I take it with me. Maybe baggage can be beautiful
I’m an addict, I’m unusual. I can’t fathom anything more suitable
It’s gonna be okay this time, I can feel the natural highs go steady
This demon will shrink, I’ll be fine.
I can see the light already