Deep Tissue

I see it in the mirror through the steam,

an anchor sinking deep into the meat.

It isn't quite the sharp and steady dream

I bought back when the world felt more complete.

The lines have blurred and started to expand,

a dark and permanent bruise against the bone.

The ink has traveled like a drift of sand

into the wrinkles that I’ve grown to own.

It doesn't hold me down the way it should,

it just shifts with the folding of the skin.

I thought that I was making something good,

now I’m just wearing where I’ve always been.