Body; caution tape closed-up casket.
Traffic light stuck on yellow. I am caustic, I say,
I am battery acid. I flash all the
bright colors. Defense mechanism
won’t save me now. My soft victim-skin screams
danger-red against your palms.
Force myself into small doses. Become immune,
numb to all of this. Finally.
Sometimes poison feels a lot like
I love you; I need this; It’ll be quick.
I am child-small again, like the first time,
call this the third. Wish my body asleep
like the second,
frozen.
Start to claim this slow contamination voluntary.
A part of me. Easier to swallow if I say
I wanted it, than to tell them
I never learned. It is so hard to run from something
you have sat still for your whole life.
