On My Toes

Ropes wrap my chest and pull tight around my neck. My ankles stay crossed, throwing me off balance every time I try to stand. The nipple clamps bite hard, and the rope at my throat makes every breath a calculation. A vibrator hums between my legs, but I can’t chase it. I have to stay right here—alert, upright, aware. One slip and the noose tightens. One lapse and I’m on the floor. So I balance. On my toes. On the edge. And I hold.