A new routine

Casper Cancelado '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. 