...clawed and bruised. red and tender valleys of skin, pushing down, inward together forming a rim, a lip holding the inside fluids in and the rest....the rest are too big. small pocks and scrapes like stars, so many, dot and scatter out from your wrist. over your knuckles and nails.

bristol chreame de mint brake fluid 

and i don’t know what you’ve gotten 

yourself into this time... 

       you drunk savage fuck.

   Running to fall. 

           Hoping and dying to fall. 

waiting with eyes so big they hurt 

along the thin, skin-lined edges... 

You do fall and I’m there,         not catching you.