in school we were taught about the atom, how all matter can be reduced
we also learned how to sew and use contraception
how to say no to drugs but
they didn't teach us about the other things we need to say no to
those harder drugs like narcissism, like charm
and the withdrawal symptoms, and the coping mechanisms

so yes, i pretend that i am dead.
mom isn't hurting though,
it is an ideal death.
because i have left my body, that body, that mind that was woven into his magic
there is a theory: that the moment of your departure
you step into another life where it resumes as if nothing has occurred
walking out of a car crash into your destination, safely arrived, oblivious of the world behind that one
every thing learnt best forgotten
i tell myself that i am dead, and nothing can touch me where i am now

but,
i also remember the lesson on the great continent of pangaea, breaking into bits
and sometimes i miss the self i was before i settled into my own crumbs

i didn't know
that the heart could break in
so many directions at once
a windowshield that started to crack with
just one pebble, but here we are,
still driving
on an uneven road
filled with rocks

because you didn't think the southwest was beautiful in a desolate way
all of those ancient layers of rock
stayed standing despite the earth shifting around them
perhaps they are stargates that we have once passed through in other forms
only to come back to where it began
you quoted nietzsche to me:
"time is a flat circle"
in fact you said that many times
i have already done this, i have already made my choices
i have resorted to convenience when i thrived on the uncertainty
coming and going is all the same when there is no end
you're an old bruise i keep pressing on
the blood underneath fresh and flowing to the haunted spots you keep leaving in me
maybe i hope you can cover enough area that i finally dissolve
the ******* in me wants a reason to hurt
i really should not feed her, but she is begging
and i have a hard time saying what is enough
when i am so good at turning nothings into somethings,
and somethings into nothings

sometimes self-care is buying a nice pillow, something softer than you were
something that can stand the weight of my head, my thoughts

mascara stains

other times it is going to the gym and sweating you out, one heavy step at a time

going nowhere
but at least away

don't tell me that
all men with bouquets of flowers
also have knives in their pockets
not when you fed me poison every day
and called it medicine

the truth is a bomb and the blast
is a woman standing in front of a man with red lipstick marks
where she could be fixed up pretty and brightly
could be made brand new,
a cellophane covered easter basket shining with glitters and bows
just a vessel to hold eggs, to hold their growth, to burst forth
she knows she is not worthy of a sunday morning
that he unwraps her every day and does not find a gift
but just another thing that
occupies too much
of his very limited
space

step one: create an atmospheric barrier between yourself and others, fill it with auric spikes, like the black fence encirling the haunted house nobody wants to go near. become the whispering voice in the hallways, become the creak in the staircase, and sink into it.

step two: disengage the emotional counterpart in yourself, be the intellect or be nothing. be air, undisturbed. when they walk through you, only be still.

step three: do not be tempted by the scattered sweets they drop behind them to reel you into their cage, do not eat what they give you, do not be hungry for anything, do not crave nourishment where it cannot be found.

step four: do not fuss about your hair, your skin, that machine you are in. exist simply and softly, do not turn on the lights in the morning if you don't have to, do not speak, and that is important.
though they will dare you, do not ever speak, for they know your replies and have only fire to stuff back into your throat.