cotton batting fills my frontal lobes
i'm too dry to weep
you charge at me
your head a mallet
your fists restrained hammers at your sides
"you getting ready to go out?"
you say
my eyes are soul-less, flat and gray
as I turn to you
my jaw opens, then closes
opens and closes
words weave in and out of the cotton batting
and stick there
"you getting ready to go somewhere?"
you say
flames fill my chest and the words are pushed and spill out
in monotone, with mercury dripping down my face
i say
"i'm going to visit my son in the mental hospital."
pause
my face, a classic flat-effect,
"you know this and why are you making me say this out loud?"
the sharp angles of the letters slice my throat
and more mercury drips
and acid fills the back of my throat
my eyes are soul-less, flat and gray
and you glare sharp blades at me
wrapped in a silicone shell of your narcissim
"you look like you're getting ready to go out somewhere."
you say
chrome glazing over  your eyes, over your heart
with that, the cotton batting fills more space
my soul-self doubles over in pain
and with that
the side of me that lived for you
died