throw a hand into a bucket
of sorrow, and pull out the
first thing your hands find.
it will be a small package
and it will fit warmly in your
palms. do not be fooled by its
lightness. it is a heavy, heavy thing,
when it finds the right place.
you did not ask for this gift
so you are happy. you will open
the package and it will roar
upon your skin and
fill your tongue with horrid, vile
words and you will have no one
to say them to but yourself.
it will drain you of color
and suck the warmth from your bones. it will leave you gasping
into a towel on lonely nights when
your stomach shrinks to nothing.
and the world will laugh as you carve yourself open
aching to get it out.
