eroding before me
are these tiny strings
still pulling apart
still tied to me,
but
I know these delicate attachments
won’t last as long as
the ropes I tie around my waist,
but the invisible touch can sometimes
silently vibrate against my skin
and catch the lighting,
reminding me who’s at the end
of my string
far away from me,
and I can be happy-
yet
sometimes
I see
that this
hidden thread
is marked in crimson blood
threading itself through my skin
into my muscles
and out back again-
I must not only
pull out my scissors
to cut
but
now I must
pull until the barb slices through my skin again-
a lesson I will never learn.