The future has razor-sharp
edges, swiftly cutting
bright red wet and ugly scars.
The past is a blunt knife,
dull and rusty
and I'm being stabbed
and stabbed
and stabbed.
I am stuck in the
present down on my knees
swimming in blood and saliva
with dry tears streaming
down my face
unable to catch a breath
choking on misery
nails dug deep into
my skin
and I am screaming
but no one can hear
and I want to rip
my trachea out and chop
my lungs and eat my heart out
and pull out all
those miles of intestines;
I want to flay my skin
and lay it out for you to
see my scars.
I'm a grotesque of
days long gone
of days that reign
of days that soon will be.
I am the monster you created,
you Dr. Frankensteins,
I am your masterpiece,
I am what you made me
but you won't leave me be.

I know it's called "the present",
but God help me, it's simply not a gift.