reality can be bent and reshaped and transformed by nothing more profoundly than laughter
i’m crazy and fucked up and i hold on to things i should really have let go of a long time ago. but it’s okay. you see, these things are necessary in my line of work; after all, inspiration doesn’t come from emotional stability and a clean bill of health.
i’d never tell you how much i’ve missed you. not even if i could. cause to do so would be to betray the existence of the part of me that still has those kinds of feelings, and also how you’re the only thing that’s been keeping that part of me alive. i’ve kept you inside my mind to hold myself in place, to keep the segments of my body from sliding apart and making a mess on the floor that my mother works so hard to keep clean. you’re the key to my existence even though i haven’t seen your face in years. it’s okay cos everything finds its way back in the end.
colloquially the suicide forest
how i longed to drown
in that infamous
sea of trees
two years late for a
very important meeting
and i am not worried,
i know my end is waiting
there’s no rush anymore,
i’ll get there when i get there.
my life was saved primarily by zoloft
but procrastination had a hand in it too
i suppose it is maybe not such a terrible habit after all.
i’m wondering whether u-haul rents trucks that can go to outer space because i’d like to move to a different galaxy
tear my body open. i want to plant opium fields. i want my insides to be all codeine and morphine and pretty red poppies. i want to feel as fine and as not-sick as i look.
my body is knotted and i am not convinced that anything i can remember ever actually happened i am not convinced that i have been alive. i may have been put here with a thousand years’ worth of false memory written onto the blank pages of my mind (invisible ink is so fucking cliche)
if i laugh too much my legs stop working and that’s how come i don’t have any emotions anymore
you told me life’s a gift and
i said will you please
hush your fucking
and you did (for once)
soft human respiration
harmonized with the whispering
creation of new life within the wall
we lie in bed mere inches from the nest
where the little brown mouse was giving birth
you told me great we’ve got vermin and
i said is that not a gift
being alive is a ruse
we are all trapped
in our existence
life is a gift in the same way you put cheese on a mousetrap,
our necks will snap before we can enjoy the gift
grief is a process. it’s got five stages and
it never really ends.
i can exist only within the parameters of
anger denial bargaining depression acceptance
i am here or i am there or
somewhere in between, always.
i was born into
an infinite loop of
but never getting anywhere,
there is no hope for my escape