I
there's something clutching to my throat
whenever I swallow I can feel the puncturing of
needles
and there's something burning behind my eyes
I don't know what it is
my hands shake a little and I stare off into the distance
that moment when I looked at you and tilted my head and didn't say anything
I wasn't crying

hold
fingers tighten around dangling wrists
bones crunch against skin, and the blood
tastes like metal
it stays and stains
I can't seem to let go of it

fast
it's a routine
sometimes I sit there and I look around and I think how odd it is
when people's lives don't seem to change
and they don't do anything about it
and they don't really move from where they are
it makes me wonder
what makes them hold fast