i am my own fiona apple record;
choking on my exoskeleton and
bleeding into the lake. it makes pretty
whips with red and blue interlaced more loosely
than my emotional stability, and the religious faith
that succumbs to the chrome pattern cracks on my wall.
it's after midnight and i can smell the cotton clogging my
esophageal lining, secreting on my taste buds. my retinas are wired at
the lead in the corner while centipedes crawl beneath the muscles
of my kneecaps. it's only two a.m. i pretend i am a neon zebra,
reflecting light onto all my insecurities because the coffee mug
never felt so cold against my shoulder. i wonder if i am
insane. Morning time. Sunrise.
The ray of Light refracts onto the window, bolstering the
cotton breathing within me like a parasite.
i am an enemy of my Being.

But tonight passes.
Seldom passes.
Today, I am
SanE.