creating invisible lines
across my scalp
grinding dead fingernails
down to the living skin
slowing peeling the cells
trying to reach my brain
performing surgery
my bed the operating table
pulling and yanking
blindly putting nerves
back in their places
feeling with sore fingers
struggling
to find the bad spot
the chunk of my mind
containing you
aiming and seeking
to yank from my thoughts
the fragment
that makes my blood boil
and
forces me to text you
when my ten scalpels tire
and i finally fatigue
no molecule, particle, or
flaw
can i find
you have infected my brain
down to the core
and every atom in between
but still
the capacity of my conscious surgery
can find no defect
sensing sanity return
i put back every nerve and neutron
and use my ten tired needles
to stitch back my scalp
hiding my work
beneath many blood hairs
deeming myself rational
sound and levelheaded
i use electricity to connect
my disorganize mind to yours
ten tired tools helping me along
and when I'm done
when the message has left
...i question my health
and the process begins again