she said my mind was always running from reality

my heart was in the right place but my head wasn’t

she was probably right

didn’t stop me from writing her off as dead though

of course she actually died

so i didn’t do anything really

except probably drive her to the door

my heart wasn’t in the right place at all

it was cremated with her

and in my head she mutters like my jiminy cricket trying to find the conscience i consciously gave up to free up space for music facts and punk rock lyrics

she whispers all night long as i try and sleep

circumventing my brain waves and focusing them on things better left unthought

forcing dreams better left undreamt

a cancer eating me from the inside with her delicate fingers holding the ash in my chest in her icy grip

her fingernails piercing my aorta and infecting my blood with sundry wishes and her frangrance

i cut myself to smell her, to feel her squeeze gently in my chest and quicken my pulse so she flows across my body one more time

to feel her tongue, her skin, her breath on my neck as she convulses beneath me lost in time, lost in passion, lost in each other one more time

and i wake covered in sweat and alone, with no trace of the violence i forced on myself but an ache in my head, in my chest

and she was a mocking laugh in my cerebellum

my heart’s in a bad place and my head is infected

was she ever even there

or is this a manifestation of my willingness to lie down and let the world do what it will

inviting the blow flies to feast on my fetid body, to multiply in a less than vascular systemic denial of all that is good and pure and true

to deny oneself is the greatest crime

lock my wrists behind my back and throw me in a cell far underground and lose the fucking key

she used to say my heart was in the right place

and it was my head that was all sorts of fuckered up

she was right

even as she ripped it still beating from my chest and took it with her to hell

imagine one of these days i’ll join her there

swimming in the magma pits

serenaded by the screams of the damned and never dying souls

i don’t care

it’s all so much nothing on a sundae of not giving a shit anymore

“and a vision softly creeping, left it’s seeds while i was sleeping” simon and garfunkel, sounds of silence