Excuse Me Eryn O'neal She perches (and searches for a reason to unlock the door) on the bath tub (rub-a-dub-dub, if only she could finally relax) X-Acto (she know exactly what she’s doing) blade (of grass or glass, it doesn’t matter) in one hand (wearing the worlds hand-me-downs) iodine (she starts to whine [she chugs wine] “when will my head shut up [up, up and away from this place]) and Neosporin (her skin start pouring) in the other. She doesn’t (maybe she does at some level) know how she has returned (and turned into this lifeless, hopeless excuse (excuse me?) for a human being) to this place (one letter short of palace but spells hell [maybe she is in hell]). Her stomach is full (full of shit) of guilt (living on stilts, wanting to fall and end this existence), her hands (moving like sand in an hour [for hours] glass0 hold (and mold) her relief. Time movers (through the cracks of the floor) slow as she glides (the new blade makes it effortless) the triangle-shapes blade (not grass, not glass, but relief) across her left (she has left her emotional pain behind) thigh (fried chicken, that is where this mess began).