caging its writhing muscle inside angular confines of pink bone
slippery pieces, thick with asphyxiation, slump against one another
and every involuntary pulse threatens outright dismemberment
firmly callused fingertips freshen indolent wounds that will never heal
because they have sprouted deep between the root of survival and my solar plexus
a low-lidded third eye stoically observes from above while viscus drips across barren hips
and it is all I can do to just breathe
haplessly peel back layers hopelessly papered to someone else's walls
salvaging star-crossed hands to prevent purple offal from colliding with silk
plucked from beneath tenuously timid toes as this chest lurches forward
and stumbles along to a whimpering score of weakly gurgling flow
(on the bright side, there is no chance of falling if you never bore full weight)
