Varsha Ganesh
when i was younger i used to chew on the tips
of my thumb until i could peel away the skin with my teeth. conditioned to find comfort in the taste of blood. when i was 13 i went to the dentist and he asked me if i bite my cheeks a lot and i said
i guess i do
when i talk on the phone with my mother i wonder what she would think of me
of the way i sit in my chair
in a tank top and boxers with my legs propped up on my desk. she asks me how school is going and i flick my lighter while i tell her that its fine. she talks while i imagine
swallowing it whole and lighting it from within my stomach until the flames burn through my trachea and i blow out smoke through my mouth. i hope the last thing i say is “okay”
lately i wake up in the mornings with my throat raw and my chest heavy. my mother says i grind my teeth in my sleep but i never asked her
if she heard me scream from my bedroom at night. i wonder if she would notice. i wonder if she wakes up screaming too
the two of us have the highest spice tolerance in our family and we love the smell of smoke
six hours ago i chewed on my thumb until blood filled my mouth and coated my front teeth and when the girl in the mirror looked at me like a rabid animal i felt more like myself than i ever had in years.