Exit wounds,
the holes in my hands
that bleed, trickling down

Stigmata,
an offering to God
a rallying call
to arms

I am Adam
biting the apple
the flesh of that fruit
the closest thing
to Hell

(and I am heading, heading there)

they ask me if I meant it
as if meaning means something
more than it does, when words can exist without it

here are the facts of me
(I say)

I have never broken a bone
I don't eat red meat and
I counted out each pill

it would be less ugly
to find me this way
than slit and gaping
in the bath

I was careful (too careful)
the first time

still, you learn by living
from not

dying. Death, I name my
hands

hands that throttled the throats
of a thousand men, the ones
I destroyed with my hips

(that was before)

I knew the taste of thirty Aspirin

this time
this time
this time

I'll survive if they kick me hard enough
if they call my name loud enough
if the doctor writes furiously enough

I am not enough.