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drip drip dripping

i understand now why some people do it—

shred their wrists so something can escape,

can breathe, can force its way out of your skin—

drip drip drip like the sink faucet that doesn’t

quite work, because at least drip drip drip isn’t

choking on the nothing you can’t say or gasping

for things you wish you could feel and it only

leaves you clawing for heartbreak with bloodied hands

and ripped fingernails like

ohgod,ohgod,air,breathe,keepbreathing,ohgod

and drip drip drip and screams that echo in your

mind like a mantra instead of tearing from your

throat and *if a tree falls but nobody is around to hear it

does it still make a sound?* does it? does it?

drip drip drip like steady clockwork, but maybe not

the sane kind, just the kind that’s losing something--like

your mind or possibly blood, and you know it isn’t healthy,

it’s a sickness, a disease, a different kind of drug addiction

and the syringe needle is leaking drip drip drip until its

too late and you just drift drift drift away and your

heart explodes without oxygen but at least you feel it,

and even when you’re too far away to hear it, you know

you’re drip drip dripping.

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Written by
rachael-p-presley
American
Published
Aug 5, 2012
Lines·Words
23·205
Permission

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