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It was my body it was my body it was my body it was my knife it was my penis it was the instruments I wielded most brutally against myself after years of testing blind spots in the mirror it was the traitor’s glorious moment it was the second act surprise it was my body siren red steaming holes in the bedsheet tire iron against a kneecap padded wrist brace to the headboard so hoglike beneath your hands begging to be skinned and unearthed broke reflection in the glass uncovered so wet and untethered to learn what might finally lurk beneath me what encoding this warhead that was mine this body you were about to rewire and detonate.