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 getting confused
i can’t recognize any of my surroundings
i think I’ve missed my bus stop
but never actually have- 
i can handle this. 

i search for strength in my marrow
and find violence in my blood
find humor in my burning flesh
find light in my tissues
find myself somewhere foggy