“I stared over the washbowl in unthinking ritual.” Sylvia Plath
Unthinking ritual
Unthinking ritual the razor blade
The muse of tangled verse along my arm
A tale of then and now and what if
What if I were a size 0
Would I be visible
Me with my invisible nature
A sestina to the death of my spirit when I was 12
Conjured memory so stale like cigarettes and tar
Haiku for every time I went walking
The abyss of downward spiral whispers
Watch the stairs love
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