They warned me about drugs
the little pastel pills
the needle sliding into my arm.
How they would rock me to sleep
or shake me awake
like a monster inside my bones.
The frenzied addiction
the soft overturning
from the inside to death.

But they didn’t warn me
about routes to disembodiment
other than what was contained
in a Ziploc bag.
They didn’t label a pair of eyes
the smell and warmth
of a body other than my own
or the gentle touch of fingers
that wanted to heal my scars.
They didn’t warn me about love.

They warned me about drugs

the little pastel pills

the needle sliding into my arm.

How they would rock me to sleep

or shake me awake

like a monster inside my bones.

The frenzied addiction

the soft overturning

from the inside to death.


But they didn’t warn me

about routes to disembodiment

other than what was contained

in a Ziploc bag.

They didn’t label a pair of eyes

the smell and warmth

of a body other than my own

or the gentle touch of fingers

that wanted to heal my scars.


They didn’t warn me about love.