three years later and it’s still an open wound,
covered in maggots and baby flies
and every day the necrosis spreads further,
metastasizing like a cancer
at stage 4.
you are a car crash
that i cannot look away from
you are blood on the airbag
you are a body in the road
© 2013
I literally spend the whole time when writing wanting to delete everything thing
the seizures must have shook me up something good
because yesterday my brain told me i hated you
but today you’re all that’s on my mind
i say
the wrong things
more than i say the right
when you are distressed
a long
wordless
song begins to play in my
head
in my head where all of this began
Head Quarters, home base,
the mother ship
whoever is behind the wheel,
whoever is overriding my autopilot and
controlling what i say and
what i do
she’s the culprit;
she’s someone i hardly know, someone
i hardly trust
someone i could trust would not
single-handedly
boil my blood and lower the gates
that were covered with signs:
“You Don’t Mean That”
“Turn Back Now”
“Mayday”
the one with her hands on my controls
furiously presses my Red Alert button
without remorse,
hands inches away from my
Self Destruct button,
and the heavy steel
doors at the bottom of my throat slowly begin
to open
and out come the worst things possible
i’m defenseless and dumb, just standing by
as she tears you apart and digs inside of
you and hurts
you,
the one person i can
single-handedly
trust
and my vision goes black and all
i can hear is the long
wordless
song playing somewhere in my head,
in Head Quarters, in home base
in the mother ship that no longer belongs to
me
and as i watch as you finally cry, and as i
listen to the long
wordless
song, accompanied by my oppressor’s
footsteps as she walks back to her throne
at the base of my brain stem
i feel like taking my sword and opening
my stomach as wide as i can
as if i am at the dentist
and my belly button is my new mouth
gasping for air, waiting for the stainless steel
dental instruments
i feel like committing a sacred seppuku in your
honor, emptying myself at the waist as
a request for forgiveness
i would hand you my stomach as i kissed your
eyelids
and i would hand you my liver and
i would have sucked out my own bone marrow if
you had asked me to
i would line up my dying organs before
you and dip my fingers inside my open
wound and write you the longest
wordless songs i could produce
i would die in the least appealing manner,
a long, painful death
which has a 0% survival rate
i would lay in my own warm blood and stare
you in the eye and say
if this is how i must prove my love
than so be it
i would die a thousand times
and a thousand times again
disgustingly personal “personal time”: some-
times i feel like being dead wouldn’t be that bad
you know, like all of our responsibilities and
all our stressors and anxieties and problems
would be just be
gone
i don’t want to kill myself, i don’t
feel the urge to pick up a gun and place
it against my head and make my lights go out
no, but i think the afterward,
the finished product, the masterpiece,
the calmness, the part where i’m finally
‘at rest’; no more over-thinking, no more
thinking,
period.
maybe it’s time
i sought a professional
(source: shannello)
on good days (days you weren’t late
to work, days off, holidays, days
you don’t wake up still mad at me
for some reason; i tend to say
a lot of things i don’t mean and
say “jk” where an apology should
be)
i think you’re the single most
interesting person to have
ever lived
on bad days (days you lose your keys,
or get called into work, or relatives die,
or we miss our turn, or you run over a cat,
or we couldn’t save that one turtle. days
work sucks. days we don’t speak to each
other for long periods of time
the days we’re fighting
the days you cry and make
me hold you and make me tell you
“everything’s going to get better”
and “everything’s going to be okay”
or the days you tell me you hate yourself,
and hate your life and hate your job and
hate your family and hate our situation
and hate your aspirations and hate all of
my attempts to make it better; you tell me kisses
won’t make this better, kisses won’t make our
bills go away, kisses can’t put money
in my vacant bank account)
it’s on those bad days,
that’s when i see you for who
you really are
(your fears,
your insecurities,
your innermost and deepest
of secrets,
your tears,
your blotchy red cheeks,
your anxiety,
your eyes sad and
angry at the
same time)
it’s on those bad days,
that i think you’re the single most
interesting person to have
ever lived
(source: shannello)
©2012
