please don’t let me
lose my lips
to open wide
and let it slip

yellowed pages
the tiny crosses
mark the sins
within my pocket

to be weightless
was my cheek
against the cold wet tile
the sound of running water

i am not my body
but a lump of atrophied muscles
a bundle of bones
staring into leagues of watery deep

it was then i knew
that my disorder
was louder than my body
and that all things drown in the end