Sometimes when I'm hungry I look inside of myself first. 

And I pick off pieces of my brain and my heart and my eyes. 

And it's never enough. 

And I'm still starving. 

Sometimes I think that I need a silencer, like the kind on a revolver.

And then the shrill sound of my own voice would escape me. 

And I’d never be unkind or too loud.

And no one could say I'm too much. 

Sometimes I twist a memory to fit song lyrics.

And I scream them into an empty house.

And they never describe me perfectly. 

And I feel like throwing up when the song ends.

Sometimes I get emotional because my dog lays his head down.

And he does it quietly.

And I wish I could take up so little space and still be whole.

And I wish I could bathe in the silence without drowning.

Sometimes I say it this out loud as if my filter has expired

And it just slides from off my lips.

And I'm desperate for understanding. 

And I wish someone would knock me out.