For Myself, Pre-Crisis

here I am,

counting the tiles on my bathroom floor

and here I am,

letting the water run me so frigid it burns

and there is a hole in the feeling from my

neck to my spine. watch: muscle leaps

from the top floor,

trying to avoid a death where it

matters to god.

it doesn’t matter.

no one can identify the body

but there are enough crying parents

that there are still flowers.

there will always be flowers.

i wonder if i have always been the same person

in this body that doesn’t

but could.

spare me the formalities of a first-name basis.

I used to climb down my fire escape holding

a match.

watch my hands

cup the crosshairs of my mouth and bleed.

i never held this thing called intimacy but

your mother wants you to call

and I want to get some sleep

but the clothes keep coming off.

at least there is still the emergency room

so I can paint myself red and

pretend to be open.

in this story, i answer all of the doctor’s questions

and when the line out gets longer, well –

at least you were never the silent type.

#HS