Split-lip January, says my mother. Rip-kneed, wide-eyed birthday month. Turn nineteen, spend all of January falling in love, choking up your heart, asking for more. How can your body stand you? How can your body stay with you through this war you wage on it? Put the bullets down, take your heart home, Goddamn it, Goddamn it, just leave your body alone.
Listen: it’s not enough to burn in effigy.
You’ve got to take down the whole damn ship.