I am so full of energy, it aches against my skin (that heavy blood bag). I am so full of bone and muscle. I am full, I am quantified. Count it all out in your hands and number it. Make a graph to turn in next week. It’s simple, really. The computer does most of the work.
The numbers in your notebook are when I tried to count it out. I lifted parts, one by one (my foot, my hip, my bicep and my hair), I carefully measured. The force of it broke my first cane, ripped the soles from my shoes.
When you have children, shield them from this.
Oh, open your hands. I will pry the scare quotes from your fingers and give them new shapes. I will tear the digits, one by one, from their joints, and measure them. It’s good, really, it’s good, because do you want to be a walking blood bag, this sick mass of tissue and heat? Make a graph. It’s simple, really.
One by one, throw your head back to look at the ceiling. Don’t look at me while I count and measure. This is important. When I touch you, don’t look at me. Look straight up. If it hurts, don’t look at me. If you hear a scream, don’t worry, because it’s probably not yours.