Sore between my breasts, around my neck, and down my back. Everything hurts. My head. My abdomen. Possibly a virus, possibly the pains of life. I’ve thought of writing all day and here I finally sit to do it. But my brain’s empty. The screen left blank for hours closed and opened and sometimes I even hold down a key and watch one letter fill the page. But maybe some relief will come of this. Maybe I’ll sleep and wake up tomorrow freed from this strange bondage. Edge me closer so that I might have a look at what it’ll like. Here. Here are these words fraught over for hours and wrapped in a pretty red ribbon. It’s my virgin wrists. Do with them what you like.

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