Body; caution tape closed-up casket.
Traffic light stuck on yellow. I am caustic, I say,
             I am battery acid. I flash all the
                          bright colors. Defense mechanism
     won’t save me now. My soft victim-skin screams
             danger-red against your palms.

Force myself into small doses. Become immune,
               numb to all of this.                   Finally.
Sometimes poison feels a lot like
                          I love you; I need this; It’ll be quick.


I am child-small again, like the first time,
             call this the third. Wish my body asleep
                           like the second,
                                                     frozen.

Start to claim this slow contamination voluntary.
                         A part of me. Easier to swallow if I say
                                        I wanted it, than to tell them
             I never learned. It is so hard to run from something
                           you have sat still for your whole life.