i didn’t mean to sell my soul to the devil. the
words were mixed in the comic book, an
d i was playing them on my tongue, processing

them in my mind, producing them like a con
demned symphony. i asked my mom
how to get it back, but she said, shouldn’t

have tested the lord, honey. like, mom,
it’s too late for that, said, h
ey, what’s a few more times?

struck some deals with the one i’d hea
rd would never get tired of the challenging, to
try to win some soul back, light a match, spark

a fire, fuse myself to life’s risks and gambles,
not that i was well equipped to do what i nev
ver meant to in the first place. my toughest fights,

i fell into for the grounding, myself. deprived
of a choice to not anymore, i’d lie on the tile floor, and
imagine myself from above. up there, i’d spare a gl

ance for the ceiling cracks and think about trying to
slip through to heaven—as though i coulda ditched that bod
y when it was resting, recovering, so precious. it was like

the first i’d learned of what it was really about, this
whole being alive ordeal. my body saying, f
orget my mind, and, bless it, determining to survive.

first feat. in Crab Apple Literary