I’ve been eating myself.
Like something unreal. A worker bee, a wasp.
But I feel it in my being: I’m going to be alright; my time will come.
I’ve seen flies on my face.
Like something I read about once. A novel, a poem.
Can’t feel my toes through this plaster. Nor my fingers. I didn’t think I’d bleed.
I’ve been to the other side, but I’m okay now.
I just got a little lost coming back home.
But I swear it, I’m just fine.
I love you so much.