8/16

There are so many other people and all their faces
Hungry eyes and hungry mouths chattering with gaping toothed spaces
Nod, nodding,
bbahhhhhhh
Stop stop just for a second I want to hide
I want to hide
Tic tic tic
Override
you'll never stop
and i'll continue to feel nervous in all of these places

8/13

Cheers to stale bagels and brains that tell you you want to die.
I know I'm just tired and want to sleep for three days without incurring the consequences,
But,
Can't I just get a mute button for the irrational and the insane?

I need more time.
I need more rhyme.
I need more reason.

8/11

My encounters with the void are frequent and brief.
Each time, it microwaves my ice cream brain for a few seconds, takes a spoonful, and places me back in the freezer to resolidify.

I feel better after I get sick as if my body reminds my brain that it is small, dumb, and insignificant while paradoxically trusting it as a navigation system.

I should get wasted and quit my jobs and do anything that is actually anything and maybe I won't be a shell and maybe I'll move along or maybe that'll be enough to die right there and maybe that's okay.

If so, I hope the microwave breaks and it drinks me in like soup.

8/4

I'm hole-y like swiss cheese, just sliced a little thicker,
though I'm getting thinner.
Cut a piece off and you'll see the blood drips a little quicker, just a little quicker,
as I get thinner, just a little thinner.

My gills are doing all the heavy lifting they can take,
But throw a little water on me from time to time and I'll flip here and there,
Here and there,
To remind you that I'm still alive, just a little sicker.

8/3

My days are numbered and maybe I can be privy to that universal secret sooner than later;
I'll take it as an honor,
For when the grim reaper comes for me I don't plan to run,
I'll await his embrace,
Peacefully smiling.

Stick a Fork in Me

Dead skin slivers are mingling with eraser shavings,
Dinner is caffeine,
The dull pain that lingers in my upper neck isn't quite so dull anymore,
and all this tension in my head could be released as steam if only I was a well-oiled machine.

If only I was a well-oiled machine...

8/1

I'm the phantom limb society can't seem to shake off,
the dog that ate a fat kid's birthday cake and got kicked, but will never see it as a loss,
I'm the persistent zit on a nose that's impossible to conceal,
the scab that gets picked at over and over, but never seems to heal,
I'm the mosquitos that bite you the one summer night you go outside,
and the horse that bucks the little kids off, every time they ride.

I'm doomed.

You're doomed.

We're all doomed.