My brother stole my mirror
Now I can't run my fingers
Alongside my provoked ribs
In a nostalgic way.

They resemble my health,
Don't I look healthy?
Upwards I go,
Collarbones I outline.

They are sunken into my upper chest,
Like the roots of a mourning tree.

My body the earth.
As much death as life.

I dig with them
Into the flesh,
But only I make them turn red.
The cracks in the pavement,

I relapsed.