8.13.2023 | untitled
when you’re sitting on the edge of your bed with the world on your shoulders
when you’re sitting at the edge of the world and your entire body aches
but you’re too tired to go back
too tired to move forward and the coil winds tighter and tighter
when the sweltering sun can’t break through the chill and the gentle breeze is ice on your skin
when every step is a marathon and every inch is a mile and every tear is an ocean
7.25.2023 | my body isn’t my own.
this life isn’t my own.
this life I live mere fractions of, this self I only hold a sliver of.
there is no past and there is no future, in the system. there is no planning, no long-term, no eternity. there is the now, the moments until I hand off Myself to the next, who will mangle my efforts into something unrecognizable.
on and on, so it continues. day in. day out. baton passing under ever-changing neon lights, as the goalposts move further and further with every switch.
7.20.2023 | sick, sick, sick
I feel sick, one hundred times over, I feel the ground pulling out from under my own two feet but the rest of my body never meets the impact
7.16.2023 | weather
stormclouds rolling in.
my mind is splitting from my body and my body is splitting from my soul. my skin is splitting from itself and my mind is splitting onto me. wet grip slick fingertips slip from the edge. spinning tumbling turning over and over folding over and over on top of itself
white knuckles grip the knife, the hammer, the nail, the lighter, red fingers drip, drip, drip on the asphalt
♮
Surely, truly, these emotions that bite and overflow, are ones wholly unique to my own weak body and even weaker spirit, for I cannot envision a world in which any progress is made where these feelings can be found so readily; any human bearing the heavy weight of such darkness spends enough energy simply treading water that there is not nearly enough left for thriving, exceeding, expanding.
And so here I drown in my own thoughts, alone.
7.09.2023 | relapse
my screaming nerves and racing heart
icy trembling fingers
on the hot edge, scorching blade
the crimson flowers clear out the sorrow, momentarily
just for it to come rushing back with the tide
6.09.2023 | untitled
I still wake in the early hours suffocating under latex and thin paper
each morning I rip the IV out again
put on my clothes and act like they weren’t just burned at my feet.
10.30.2022 | treadmill of viscera
the trees outside are waving to me
the wind that jerks them around for me
the clouds ahead that rain down their sorrows upon me
i hold the universe in my hands
on my shoulders
in my heart
through my body
runs deep and aching
my bones creak with the pressure
my guts spill out onto the floor
they were already covered in
dirt and dust
rust
and decaying
wrought iron shoulders and trembling fingers
my skin falls like ribbons around me
tied a neat little bow on my arms
are my mistakes
countless and climbing
overtaking
where do i stop and the pain begins?
when do i stop and my life begins? i'm
stretching turning splitting apart slipping
open
i'm sick of picking myself up
running forward and getting nowhere and dragging my insides
behind
10.17.2022 | autopsy
ice
cold
waves.
there’s something in there.
they reach into their pockets, digging for their weapon, the blade they kept at hand for moments like these
the water encroaches further
desperately. searching. reaching into their flesh, between their ribs. its not here
the moon pierced through scant clouds like spears as the black water begins to lap against their feet. the sea gives no clue as to what lies beneath. but it’s something. and that’s enough
they shove their hand down their throat in one last desperate move
fingertips brush again smooth slick metal, covered in bile. grasping the metal. blood starts to spill. more as they slide the blade free, drawing a clean line up their esophagus. threatening to split them in half
they had no choice.
the water wraps its fingers around their ankles. moving up their calves. it reaches their knees by the time they pull the blade free; blood is pouring from every orifice. they can’t see. smell. hear. taste. everything’s filling with blood, flowin,g pouring over into the icy sea around them as
teeth
the thought of a scream was merely that as blood strangled them as teeth latched onto their left ankle; whatever that creature is, it’s here, and it’s not going down without a fight
steadfast, as best they can they grip the blade in both hands and swing downward. it slices straight through their left calf. the creature isn’t phased. ripping. pulling. tearing. without a leg to stand on they fall into the freezing waves.
the water is so cold it cuts straight through their flesh and bone, but it washes enough of the blood away that they can groggily open their eyes. lift their head
what were they doing?
the tide pulls back, back, recedes to whence it came.
they look down at their mangled body
not a single tooth mark. puncture wound. sign of any struggle
a missing left foot. a long slice up their sternum like an autopsy.
they rest their head back down on the rocky shore one last time as the water overtakes them.