Picking at the now serrated edge
of a broken nail,
worrying the enamel 

Raking falling strands
from my scalp,
flicking away lengths of dying cells

Asking,
is it selfish
to want all of my days
to be only mine 

 Will I ever be ready for the sun?

Pedaling, in my dreams,
down hallways with no end,
only sharp corners

When I really want to be
face up in a lake,
my peace
taming the monsters below

ouroboros

I want to fill my empty spaces
and resurrect the dead pieces

When you called me weak
I shouldn't have leaned into it