It was red, and now it's over,
but I'm still white and pink striped,
a tricky piece of candy;
surreptitiously bitter.

I keep the saltwater
in the side of my mouth,
a pocket between teeth and meat.
Sometimes I swallow,
and dream of the sea,
all the copper wires hiding,
buried below the silt.

When I touch them, the glyphs
of my personal mythology
ache as if they were new.
It's not so easy, this being,
this life of poetry wrapped in skin.

11/13/2005

Author's Note: A year has come and gone, and I haven't cut myself. Go me.

Posted on 12/12/2005
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