My bones are feeling thin again,
thin as water, running into the canal of my rib cage,
where my heart, a nervous rabbit,
twitches, sticks its nose through the bars.
Breathe in, breathe out. I wait until the sharp stars in my chest
fadeaway into blue sky. I keep swearing I will not let myself
go melting into madness, drop out of myself
while sitting still. But my smile is getting thin again.
I keep smiling like my smile is a chain
wrapped around my neck, pulling tighter and looser,
teasing me: will I choke today?
Breathe in, breathe out. Blue sky, blue sky.
I try not to listen to the wind.