I could chew the skin off of my thumb,
Or force my teeth to bite my tongue.
I could eat my lip til it goes numb,
Or press the air out of my lungs.

I could scratch my arms until they bleed,
Or dig my nails into my cheeks.
I could swallow copper I don’t need,
Or hold my throat til I can’t speak.

I could break my bones to set me free,
Or feel my crimson tingly seethe.
I could rub my eyes til I can’t see,
Or exhale deep so I can’t breathe.

The violence fills my mouth with cherries,
Ever sweeter than before.
A taste unlike all the other berries,
And I salivate for more.

I still lay with my back pressed against the wall
A habit I learned from the two times you slept in my bed
And a habit I need to unlearn

Small circles,
friends,
habits,
family.
Small cycles,
seasons,
habits,
family.
Small circles because...
seasonal friends.
habitual cycles.
familial circles.
Small cycles because...
habitual friends.
seasonal habits.
familial circles.
Family cycles caused...
circular habits and...
seasonal friends and...
circles of habits and..
seasonal family...
cycles of circles,
circles of cycles,
cycles of circles that spiraled me earth-ward,
circles of cycles that spun me sky-ward.
Circles of habits that turned me inward.
And then breaking cycles that turned me outward.
Sometimes a broken circle is closer to perfect.
Tri a new Angle.  Sometimes square is better than circles.

Withering skin shrivels onto hugging ribs,
Tighter and tighter,
the flesh grows.
No meat between the bones,
Nor weeping upon this humble abode,
Just a silence that continues to grow.