have a q-tip in my hand and the thought of just jamming it in as hard as possible keeps flashing through my mind

was chopping vegetables for dinner and had to throw the knife across the room

all i wanted was to drag it across my throat, down my forearms, carve your initials deep into my inner thighs

dark thoughts echo through my vapid mind

voices whisper in the empty room

have a headache but don’t trust myself to take two or three

there are two hundred in the bottle and that feels like a good start

this inner turmoil

screaming in hushed tones

hurt

i hurt

it just fucking hurts and no matter what it is the only companion i can count on

symbiotic waves of agonizing pleasure

thought i was reborn bulletproof

only to realize the armor around my heart is just a scab

no protection

bare nerve endings in a saline solution

half salty tears half sulfuric acid

all bitter seasoning

anise and lemon rind floods my taste buds

so i do what anyone in this situation would do

dance

turn the music up loud and interpretive dance the wails and moans until all there is the bass line

with the grace of a drunken monk

the staggering imagination and skill of a deaf dumb and blind quadruple amputee

tossed into the tide and sinking fast

i’ll explain

subconsciously i want it all

outwardly i deserve nothing

this is my hell

a constant reminder of failings and the sins of wanting to find happiness

dip down deep at the knees and tumble down the hillside

an anthropomorphic tumbleweed blowing into the ghost town that is dream

the iris of the unblinking eye of judgemental well wishers watching for any missteps

polio and a pox

leg braces restrict motion

while innocence vanishes in a cloud of acrid smoke

an emotional stunt man attempting to jump a row of exploding shiny buses on a vespa

tracking traction by the worn white scars like a topigraphical map of the appalachian range

riding my spine like a hobby horse

mint condition rookie cards in the spokes of my bicycle as i switch the white hat for one of sin

showdown at the i’m okay just corralled by mania and the mother’s milk of depressive rambling

the witless witness

runny nose and box of erectile tissues

engorged by blood and running full speed into the glass window with a crash of hollow bones

the last words to run through my mind was a simple sonnet of regret and remorseful majesty

the last thing to run down my spine the warmth of frozen nitrogen

the last image in my mind was you

and my hand reaching for another q-tip