In silence
I screamed for a time
and brushed fingertips, blue
over my new, re-sculpted form.
They danced for a moment there,
unfeeling yet sensing
that something
was not right.
Another one down
twenty to go
a exclaiming burn in the ribs,
A hallow place
full of obsession
a black ink polluting the blood,
And under it all,
bones begging to rise
to broadcast a shriek
to protest suffocation.
Today I was reminded
that sometimes counting counts.