If without regretting I am telling you every single word

To conjure an infinitesimal discotheque I am the motherfucking lyric gesture gestated on the hump of a hind. Hounding an anthem less kind, so let me bang all the pots in the pantry. I bear scars from a box cutter and call them offspring. Have I said a hallelujah for the bedsheet or moaned a lachrymosa for the cyst on my right eyelid? I keep breasts quivered without notching, call bull if that’s an option. You see, an optimal influx of Ritalin decreases by speeding. These are the friends that keep me fluorescent. And no accident in supposing. There is a theory in my mythos that standing in the dark with the door closed is its own form of asphyxiation. There is this thing called caffeine that releases tiny bubbles into your bloodstream until you become a god. I know because I’ve seen it. You can trust me because the only horse I have in this race is the one I’ve culled from my esophagus. It’s like the opposite of a supplement released daily from clear gold capsules or a ritual performed without submersion or a rocket ship powered by God’s grace and fuchsia glue sticks. How I’d love to show you the painting my fingers are trailing down the walls with menstrual blood. I have put myself in the corner so call me daddy. The only good thing I got from the hospital was men’s deodorant that I spread beneath my dresses. And what a pretty boy I am making.

Elana Lev Friedland exists. They are the winner of Redivider's 2019 Blurred Genre contest and a finalist in Breakwater Review’s 2020 Peseroff Prize for poetry. Their work has appeared in Cartridge Lit, Anomaly, Salt Hill, The Rumpus, Black Warrior Review, and elsewhere. Originally from Skokie, IL, they currently live. Find them online at elanalevfriedland.com.