The weight of the agony I
Cause myself
Plunges needles through my lungs,
Pinning my breath seamlessly to their sides
in display for further examination.
I feel as raw as a drop of blood
In a pristine, white room when you
Stare back at me with that expression,
Because we both see
The vulnerable pieces of your lies
Glistening in the freshly pouring rain.
i didn’t even notice it was cloudy until now.
i’d blame fogged-up glasses,
but i thought i could see just fine—
everyone tends to want to believe that, don’t they?
if i can manage to stumble inside
and find support beneath a
child-proof cap,
then what?
it won’t make the tick-tock
of my personal atomic bomb
Slow (or speed up) its pace,
and it has never improved the condition
of my splintered mind, or
the way my chapped lips lie infinitely still
After you glued their corners
Downward
With a calamitous (top secret) concoction all your own
That no other substance can overcome.
But no one ever said it WOULD help, I’m afraid;
Test results may vary
and side effects might include
The inability to escape from the endless
Stream of thoughts that scream at night,
Development of hypochondria,
And perhaps, if you’ve broken any mirrors lately,
An even more acute urge to die than before.
But maybe that was what I wanted all along.
So I could continue to push
The blame off of
Myself
And onto everything and everyone that surrounds me,
To save myself from turning around and acknowledging
The fact that maybe I don’t want to be healed
Or maybe I couldn’t be either way.
My dreams speak in riddles, chaotic patterns,
And wind splatters against my face,
Shoving away the hands that I might have wished to grasp.
Don’t try this at home.