I’d never seen these before:

Lines that pull me from my bed like earth’s gravity
On my arm
On my thighs
On my ankles
Lines that darken when the seasons change from warm to cold
Lines that lighten in the sun
Lines that walk a line themselves
Timid footsteps along a crumbling edge
Lines that whisper nevermore
Lines that burn without warning and leave stripes on white sheets
Lines that scream this is your portion
Lines running red like Virginia soil and drop on the carpet
Strong enough to make me cut my dinner with a spoon
Lines that suggest skip dinner if you won’t make more
Forged with iron and steel, lines that cannot be undone
Lines that love company
Lines that do not believe three is a crowd
Three is a get-together but thirty is a party
Lines that get into bed with Sorrow and Shame
Suddenly the bed isn’t big enough for all four of us
One of us has to leave to sleep on the couch
Lines that groan in the morning light
Lines that speak softly to Shame take it from here
So I drink from the cup that is my portion
And I let Sorrow and Shame and Lines wash over my tongue
I swallow them whole, a trio carved into my skin
That now swims in my stomach and wanders through my veins
So much so that I forget to respond to my birth name
Lines! I’d lower my head
Sorrow! I’d raise my eyes, cowardly
Shame! I am a heap in a corner
What was unfamiliar is now my ribboned skin.