Content Warnings: Brief Mention of Blood, General Discomfort With the Human Anatomy

I swallowed a ball of yarn and let it settle deep, deep down to “fix” myself, yet I haven’t found relief; satisfaction cruelly eludes my mind. The fibers made my throat itch, so I began to pull the string, restless and uneasy, the yarn unspooling in my insides inch by inch. As I pulled it up, it snatched my guts, yanking them out and displaying them—for you. Each time I pulled, it gripped my lungs, the twine binding and making me short of breath, as if the very act of breathing had become a struggle. As I continued, it touched my heart gently, not roughly, much like you did. The yarn tangled in my ribs, like that one game—cats in a cradle—I have become. As I kept pulling, it grazed my spine, binding me to my center, tickling my vertebrae, and I flinched. The taste of the yarn in my mouth grew sour, the fibers coarser; maybe I am hurt. I realized I was doing this to myself, binding my insides and removing them for anything, for you. As I pulled up, yarn filled my mouth; I am not flossing, yet I bleed. I reached for you to help me, but you were gone, no longer here, for you were the yarn binding me. My insides rejoiced, freed from binding. Unfortunately, I am still very unwell.

Anonymous (she/her) is a disabled college student and San Diego-based mixed media artist. She finds inspiration from queer counterculture and intersectionality, and her latest zine, Bite the State, is her most current work. Anonymous is published in college and international magazines.