tales and some not

Survival

Sticky notes

to remind me of the sharp pointed

memories pinching me one and a half hand

below my nape

the place I couldn't reach

no matter how I stretched my hand

I tossed and turned in the bed of

fine broken glass oblivious to the naked eye

but so spread so spread are they underneath

my skin that they cross the barriers of the shirt

I wore till now and found its way all the way

to my esophagus

that I could hardly swallow my words any longer

like someone held me by my tongue and laughed out loud

like mad mad frenzied laugh.

Should I bite to survive?