but all I know is it's a bassline thumbprint
in my brain, a telltale heart
tapping me on the shoulder
in these inescapeable moments
when I'm stripped down
without strangers to distract me
or the television to do the same,
to make sure I remember
how small I am:
A pinprick disruption
in the fabric of black that I'm huddled in now.
I pulse as I curl it inside,
thump thump with the beat of the same cloth I'm cut from.
