Puncture in the Carnage

The skin around my neck pops like bubble wrap.
Little punctures. In time. In place.
The carnage marked out under my nails. Under my breath.
I sup it up
The knee jerks The barking The tics
All wrapping up the fury inside.
I bounce them off the bubble wrap of my skull.
Pop the criteria under my nails.
Fuck You.
My skin will tell you who I am. Where I belong.
It goes back to a time when there was no name for me
idonotbelongidonotbelong
I feel sick in the park.
The sky too bright. A body moving in the wrong place. The wrong time.
Noise accelerated. Place lost. Time forgotten.
I brush the rose. Her petals fall into my hand.
One by one. Markers of time.
Forty nine days in room twenty three.
I unwrap myself.
My neck
My time
My place
idonotbelongidonotbelong
All I need. All I am. Gathers under my nails.
I sup it up.
In the bathroom. Alone.
That is where I am.
Who I am.
Where I belong.
Little cherry pops of j oozing on my hands.
Wiped upon my lips.
I smile.
Fuck you.