I am walking around arranging the furniture,
Lining up the dining room chairs with the grain of the floor.
I am scratching out the dust in the bricks of the fireplace with my nails.
I am crawling around looking for spiders in all the corners and crevices.
I have been using the same water glass for five days. Flakes of lips and moisture smudged around the rim.
I am smelling the rotted food piling up in the fridge.
I have been watching the same red wine stain on the floor as it eventually collects crumbs and fallen hair.
I am saving my blood; little droplets and long flecks slashed against the wall.
I am making lists of things I need to do in the day and scratching out Monday for Tuesday, then Tuesday for Wednesday and lay around until it's Saturday/Sunday.
I have been bathing in the dark. Blood, grime and porcelain.
I have been bleeding for two weeks straight.
I am laying on the hard bed, tearing at the layers of skin and cells on my chest.
I have been re-reading the same line in the book for hours... every night.
"Lying here. Kept warm by her dress and my shirt over us. I am dry and stuck to her thigh. Joined by the foam we made."
I can see fingerprints on the wall above the bed.
I have been laying with my hands between my legs. A warm place.
Almost a body that doesn't feel like mine.
I am pressing all the bruises.
I am dreaming of picking the scabs from someone's body. To be that close.
I am picking off other people's hair from my soap.
I have been trying to sleep in the dark.
I have been thinking about the dead.
It's all coming out in my skin.
Tears from my eyes and armpits. Under my breasts and the soft spot where my arm bends, where they draw blood from.
I have been analyzing my body in the mirror.
I am thinking of more things to change.
I am thinking of more things to hide.
I am trying to become thinner. "You want to have control like me."
I am trying to become pure baby. "You're dirty like me."
I am trying to feel with less feeling. "You're like me, you feel too much."
I have been finding your cigarette ashes in hidden spots. The vent, the silverware drawer... that was a good one.
I have been smoking your brand, cause it tastes like your tongue. "Just like honey."
I am talking like you, using your phrasing, your attitude and jokes.
On purpose?