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A New Routine

Casper Cancelado '26

Hara Coleman '26

I’ve been sitting atop ocean blue comforters-  

when the moon and the sky are dark and my lights seem to glow.   

i sit, watch the portraits shift in the shadows, and begin the process.   

first, i trace the cracks in my glue-stained skin, familiarize myself with them, and dig my fingers into them.  

once i undo the dental floss stitches holding my glass frame together,   

i sigh and spread the shards of my life out across the sheets.   

next, i arrange them, like some sort of fucked-up puzzle, until the surface shines clear like a carpeted staircase.   

then i stare at the gaping wound i’ve etched for myself,  

and memorize each rope and tulle skirt within it.

After that i take a minute to stare at the ceiling and steady myself.   

and i begin again.   

I pick myself raw like a scab,  

ripping stained glass from my eyes and wrenching my rib cage open.   

i scrutinize my traitorous heart for any resemblance to the puzzle in front of me, no matter how hard it is; how long it takes,  

and cry at what i find.   

i bleed into the sheets, then, and go back to sleep. and cry at what i find.   

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