Turning On My Own Cells

As my body folds in on itself,
I become the cannibal
turning on my my own cells,
the flesh surrendering to a hungry mind
that will not stop repeating herself.
A work song, the hymn that will not
leave my thoughts alone.

I salivate. Gag.
I choke on my own words.
The sounds of forgiveness
stuck in my throat
like a fine fish bone
pointed and sharply
embedded in that darkness.

What more can I slip into this sheath
like a blade, sharp and shining for blood?

I cut carefully
at the threads
that become the stitches
that hold me together
at the end of the day.