there are knives and
daggers in my skull that spin about
with great fury and fervor

when will the bone give way?

i ******* hate
alcohol
don't come near my friends
my family
don't create any more
qualifiers
i will destroy the bottles
shatter the glass
drink up the blood that
spills from my fists
i will not let
you take that too.

acid poison venom
the ugly disease
the one that i hate
the one that i work to
destroy.

i am ******* immune
to this fear of mine
and i am adamant
i will **** it where it
stands

Comforting words drift down from the window and I'm hanging by one finger and no rope falls down. No hand to catch me. My ears are burning, flaming, like dying candles. The voice is soft and I sense no worry. No idea that I'm about to plummet.

I fall at last and the voice is gone and I'm alive.

Yo, how the **** did I do that?

"'There was passion without emotion,' read the book.

I burned the book and then my hand caught fire."

Dig knives into my chest,
see how many will fit.

I'm doing it,
those are my hands.

This knife has your blood and this
one has hers, and that one has his.

There's no whisper telling me to
stop.

Stop.

Find me in the far East with a bow in hand and a tree at my feet and a deer fleeing to the sunrise. I hope to find a way to escape the sun before it overtakes me. The deer seeks light. I seek nonbeing. The tree has been destroyed. The North still governs where I set my feet.

Find me upon layers of ice with an ax in hand and a mammoth at my feet, buried under a million years. I cut through a thousand and then a hundred thousand and then I’m there and my ax is cutting into ancient, frozen blood and my own is flowing and I am dying a million years ago. Snow begins to fall. The million years ago meets the now and I have an adequate grave.

Find me in a casket six feet underground with a rope around my throat in case I escape again. It’s happened twice. This time, when I wake, the rope will secure me and I will not be able to dig myself out. This is good. This is what my family wants. It makes things easier. It’s good.

Find me awake in my casket, hands ****** and lips bloodier. I kiss the silk lining of my coffin and the rope cuts off my breath and my claws cut through the rope and I push forward and wet soil falls into me. It is raining. I escape the graveyard in my white and red and brown suit and I hide in a trash bin before they can find me and **** me and bury me again. This is the eleventh time I’ve escaped. It is the last. My veins are filled with preservative and it is colder and drier but I am alive and that’s all that matters. The sun comes soon. I’m not ready for it.

Find me on desert sands with a rope in hand and a horse nearby, thirsting for the river a mile off. I am mesmerized by an image before me. It shows an island. My mind tells me that the island is where I want to be, so I mount the starving horse and make my way to the island. I am clad in a white and red suit and the horse pales and they call me Death. They call me Death because I scare their children at night and I seek the island that harbors my dreams. I don’t know that the grains of sand beneath the hooves of my horse are lives.

Find me on that island and know that this is my destiny.