he speaks to me in citrus peel,

my eyes burn, my teeth grow weak-

but i can handle this.

there is an arm growing from within my stomach

it is reaching up through my throat to

control my tongue-

but i can handle this.

i keep having moments where i can’t

recognize any of my surroundings

i think i’ve missed my bus stop but

never actually have-

i can handle this.

if i could handle going blind and deaf,

i can handle misplacing a few colors.

i search for strength in my marrow

and find ether in my blood.

find humor in my burning flesh,

find light in my tissue,

find myself in the black.