March 04, 2010 - 9:44
There is a tenderness in the underarm glands. Grief gathers, fluid, beneath my eyes. My bowels babble senselessly. Though still servicing me, the brain feels far away, muted numb.
I look down at my hands, wringing themselves. And I say "Oh, look. A girl."
I have lost contact with the neck down. And the eyebrows up.
I break my will daily.