losing our grip on purpose

By Kelsey Coletta

I used to trace my bones at night because I liked the curves and crevices and my fingertips liked to dance. I never knew it’s not normal to count crumbs the way I did but I had nothing else to do in history class. The day I realized I’d lost myself in my reflection, everything around me ached. The world screamed with each inhale and exhale and all I imagined was nails on a chalkboard, first grade soundtrack, the smell of new books. I promise I can be better and I hope someone believes me because the snake in my stomach doesn’t have much more to say. Its dying words are a hiss that echoes as it slithers and shimmies down my spine. Sweat stained pillows and vomit clogged drains, I think my madness is palpable. The clawfoot tub longs to take me away when my hands go numb and I watch the door close.

Kelsey Coletta is a Rhode Island based licensed clinical therapist and the editor-in-chief for Waffle Fried Magazine. She is a passionate collector of partially filled notebooks and might write a book one day. Her work has appeared in “Hawai’i Pacific Review”, “Prosetrics”, “Frazzled Lit”, and “Anti-Heroin Chic”, among others.

|X|