My veins and all of my crevices are filled with sharp sand.
there is no grace seaming any of my particles.

There is a weight, tossing a tantrum in my cheek bones.
Pressing on the walls, begging release.

The veins that rein and reign in the holes where my eyes live are knotted and coarse
from too long-lived a well-balanced game of push and pull.

Seething and swollen and dying to be left alone.