Bitten

The salty sting of the cut on my lip
reminds me
of the acrid acid antidote
irrigating my silent throat

and starry scars that sting at first
but heal and ink,
like thoughts I think
fill and fulfil a page.

And the way my heart breaks open when
I sweep my eyes on
that horizon
reminds me I cannot fly
(I cannot run, for the chains
from which I would run).

The salty sting of the cut on my lip
reminds me
of their safety ropes that rip at my skin,
scraping and scalding and scratching within

(You wrap me so tight in your health
and light
and I realise I can’t breathe).

Let me dream my dreams, even
if they are 
just sharp and shattered shards.
Let me simmer beneath the skin
of sick desires.
Let me, leave me to be alone

(please don’t trust me on my own)

The salty sting of the cut on my lip
reminds me
how it feels to hurt myself.