I bled from my nose for a very long time that night,
they said it was from stress,
but I found the oversimplification insulting,
and I sat down and concentrated very hard,
very, very hard,
on making it bleed again,
it wasn't that I was a masochist,
although I was,
it wasn't that I liked the site of blood,
I was, in fact,
quite fearful of it,
I stared at the wall,
playing back big band music in my mind,
what was left of it,
over and over again,
repetition seemed to make anything break at the seams,
so why not my nose,
I thought,
but nothing was working,
maybe deep down because I was feeling sorry for myself,
and I wanted someone else to sit here alongside me,
yes,
that was it
proof that I was a warm body,
that there was something left in here,
seems like that would not matter if it was just me and the tissue,
seems fractured in a way,
because it had always been---
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