I balance on the sides of my deformed fifth metatarsals,
creeping for the exit door. The bones of my feet
smashed gradually, but that part was painless, 
weightless. I was numb long before, waning in stages,
testing new ways to hurt. Right now it is the double
head hovering behind mine, swallowing kitchens
with her sharp, baking soda white teeth. Right now
it is my nails and inner arms radiating a vivid blue,
dehydrated veins blown out from the labwork,
ice sedimenting inside, samples hemolyzed
through downsized needles probing translucent flesh.
I wait as steroids dissolve keloids, the black cuts simmer.
The results come slow. I dose myself with agonizing clarity.