Spectacle

Your stitches are all out
but your scars are healing wrong

Your knee hurts. You try not to think of it but your mouth busies itself with discussing it to no end; if I speak enough of an evil, eventually it'll fall out with the exhale. When he leaves the apartment, you breathe song instead, it heals you. A gray sky waxes and wanes outside the window as you try to see something in the crinkles of a blank sheet of paper: they look at your words in print and nod approvingly, but you feel no different. I am constantly running out of time and don't they know my old injuries won't let me keep up.

You can ice this all you want but I have set the whole thing on fire
I'm not sorry.

Try it again
Breathing's just a rhythm.