7pm:
january evenings are cold.
we know this place and all its weaknesses well;
we've spent summers spitting and nodding in the park bathrooms when
our parents yelled far too much and
sitting inside all day proved to be too much stimulation.
it's winter now; the third since my rebirth, in fact,
the bathrooms are locked
and our parents fall silent when we enter the room.
yet we are still persistent, perhaps more desperate, jaded yet still children,
so the strongest foot out of all of ours
connects with the space directly under the lock and handle
with a grunt and
the door thumps open without too much resistance.
like i said, we know this place's weaknesses well,
and staying in the house is no longer an option.
(however, we are still children in the end. i'm the only one who remembered to hide my face from the cameras.)

the snow leaves us speechless and comatose. you shudder.
i have always been obsessed with the movements of you, i sigh when you twist and you
****. the smell is ******. i
can’t feel my legs? i can’t feel my
can’t feel my
jaw or the
top of my nose or my
spine, i bleed inward, and i   i   i
i am TERRIFIED OF MY OWN BODY.
you swear that this silence is toxic.you
can’t get a word out of me i’ve been choking.im never fine but i believe it

you are collateral damage.

you look down at your hands, they are callused and bleeding in all the places your teeth broke the skin so many times, this is,

is this some small victory? is this war necessary? the sound breaks through the silence but it is still muffled. the bathroom door is closed. there are people on the sink, in the bathtub, you are puking and have no idea who is holding your hair back. you feel fingers shove their way into your throat. you bite down,

your hands are bleeding again. you don't know your limit, you fall in love again, it all just aches in your chest. you were pretending the whole time, oh my god, you were pretending the whole time. you are staring at your hands.

this death is inevitable and the artillery smiles at you with all the love of a new mother like the friendly fire is so friendly and these casualties are so casual. you are fighting a war with yourself. you are fighting a war with your body and you are fighting a war with whoevers *******
fingers
are in your
throat

and the body count is rising. the air teases your lungs.

there is something disgusting stuck in my throat.
the dogs are barking. i gnaw on the joints of my hands to the
beat of their dissonance; this is what got me sick in the first place.
me and my butterfly wings,
my butterfly knife and my
butterfly rash.
winter is always diseased.
i just want to be left alone yet i swell and secede,
i urge and i can't keep ignoring,
this death will be the death of me.
i hate me

you’re ******* with me. mom always said your eyes go black when you’re angry and i see it now, too clear, i’m Crying. i’m Terrible, right? like a boil i fester underneath the kitchen table. you can not touch me, you can not touch me, donttrytotouchme cause i haunt this place. i haunt this home and all the other ones i died in; i pull your teeth and make things go bump in the night

so here i am because ghosts cant leave the place they died. my blood is in the other bed ******* in snot. my hands smell like ****. i know your skeletons very well. we dance and bleed together when you walk down the stairs, when you give us that look, we cry when your voice hits the window, my little finger pushes all the bite behind me. we wail in unison.

everything looks prettier fragmented. i have pieces of you lodged in my ribcage, my lower back, the bottoms of my feet. all catching the light as i move. (i imagine myself in the back seat of someone’s car. i cant hear the music over the static.

it marvels at my lucidity. maybe i am more blind than i thought, i think too late.) i know exactly how your heart beats. i know exactly how you breathe and all your dips and hills and plains, and i think maybe i know you too well. (it watches me destroy my body.

it nods in silence. i imagine myself in the passengers seat of someones car.) i puke and pretend that you’re holding my hair back.

poised to take this punch in the gut, i stand like a statue,
weathered and wasting before you.
what is left will remain hard until i am nothing.
i am ashamed at the
stability of your flesh,
your unsure steps mean nothing when
your tongue is all steel and
my core is all worthless and i
feel nothing from you and
this infuriates me.

the blood rushes to your head and yet your
eyes stay cold?

2. his lips are all softened strips of flesh like mine,
lacerations in the callus.
the contrast is hard to ignore.
i stand before him like i'm made of sand:
he has your smile.
his eyes wash over me;
i crumble.