a keyhole into the past

i find breath on my neck, again

it is not the darkness behind

the door that scares me

i pick the corners of my fingernails

eating the leftover skin

the breath whispers

“adore me”

it is not the darkness of

the unknown that scares me

i jam a screwdriver into the lock

prying open the door

but also, my ribcage

scattering dead butterflies

the breath turns to laughter

which sounds like a car accident

it is not the darkness,

the end, that scares me

fingers bloodied, body

dismembered, i enter

“i have swallowed myself

whole before.” the breath whispers

as have i

it is the darkness

inside myself that scares me

--A Conversation with Anxiety