i am intimately
in tune with
my cycles
oscillating
between
included and
insubstantial

and i went
quite a long
time without
shifting
back and forth
until the last
epic spiral
that lasted months
and now i feel
the sullen pull
once more

my knuckles
carry the scars
of the war
i wage daily
and every time
i write a new
correspondence
from the battle lines
i am showing
every single
snarling face
rooting against me
i am still
right fucking here
punchdrunk and
anemic but ready for
another go

i am no longer
begging for scraps
no longer docile
too ugly to care
what another scar
does to my countenance
even as i drown
it will be
two middle fingers
toward the shore
not another unheeded
call for help