Ruled paper bleeding
ink scribbles shrieking
open lacerations
into blue and red
arteries.
Veins pulsating curiosity
but cornered by anxiety
assuming that the
dialect I use to write
is ill with idiocracy.
“Idiot” screamed in
bold letters from a
fountain pen,
permanent pollution of
this ocean that I’m drowning in.
Scissor-fanged sharks
circle ‘round the toxicity,
chew my paper submarine,
a vessel crushed beneath the sea.
Vessels to my heart julienned,
cut open during surgery.
They couldn’t pull me from the deep
in time before the flatline
beep.