things all fall apart

[greatleaps]

and I feel the bones. Each morning,
I wake up, I feel the bones, I count my ribs,
I make sure they're all there.
Things fall apart and my hair curls in the steam,
and as the water works its numbing course
I watch the red splinters grow against the bones,
between the ribs,
and if I can't feel it, I know I'm there.
I fall apart in my tiny white box,
force cold coffee down my throat,
counter what's there before the burns and bones
come here to tear me apart.