And I’m laying here with my arms over my chest like a corpse, arching every bone in my back, to avoid the sterile feeling of the sterile tub and the sweat pooling at the dip in my chin before it dips into the heat of the water below where I’m choking on a mouth full of water and spitting it up before this silence kills me so I might as well splash and I’m throwing myself over the edge to fish-flop on the cold tile floor stick limbs sprawling naked and new and slick before finding a towel to wrap myself up in like a mother would her baby huddled, hunched over and at the edge of the bed now the water from the shower drips down off my hair and keeps dripping down over the line of my spine to soak into the bedspread in a puddle the size of me and maybe it’d be a good thing to open my mouth wide to tip my nose back and swallow myself whole, maybe, I think, I’d like to find my body after I’m dead so I could peel off skin, the same way I would peel the side off a lemon, maybe I need to examine my skull, and know the shape of the bones, learn why they felt the need to reach out so far, thumb the curve where they carried the weight of my cheeks, maybe we’ll learn why I am such a heavy thing to carry