Binding

If you saw a shattered plate, you would not glue it.

But here I am- tape, wire, wrap, string and glue all over.

Because I tried to fix something that only drew blood when I picked it up.

And I am horribly empty, despite knowing it would happen.

Perhaps it's exhaustion in my bones, or poison from adhesives steeping from where I'm all wound up.

I keep trying. I am so tired. So sticky and so interweaved with myself that I've lost which limb is meant to go where.

I try, I try, I try. I get jagged edges in my side for thanks.

I wonder if I'll stop purchasing bindings before or after I unbind myself.