mid morning, and the body breaks down again. sweats, burns, rejects itself and its own fluids, collapses, writhes. the doctor comes to the house, taps on everything and uses his stethoscope to listen to the tapping things he cannot reach. he says it's okay to sleep all day. come on baby, don't give out on me. new pills, a little blood, clean the apartment, drink tea.
in the evening, twin shadow is better than i hoped. we sway like fish in seaweed: dart, flutter, and spill saltwater everywhere. whose idea was this? the slickest one needs to get out the bath!
bones made of cut velvet, skin made of dead silk, black blood on the inside, bruised how i'm built
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