unwrap my ribs. carefully, like a present you've been waiting for since october. smooth out the wrinkles along my forehead, sip the lines from my palms. write letters to constellations along my marked calves, and stain my upraised mouth with new words that don't belong to me. sketch characters inside my elbows and draw their faces down my stomach.
take a microscope to the pores between my vertebrae, set original sentiments and grow them carefully. look through my corneas like window-panes shattered by heat from a church fire. clean the bridge of my nose of headaches and bottles and bottles of asprin, vicodin and something nameless and strong.
snap my tibiae over your knee, assemble a tired face, put it over a mask, tie the words to my lips and send me out into the world a refreshed, taken individual.