cradle your head in your hands
as every barbed whisper in your head
echoes until it's thunder wreaks havoc

you are a jarring lance against the wall
while the buzzing breath of the world rolls

you are not here
you were never here

you can only pray,
only only only
wish you weren't

but you cannot just will yourself to die
with the fierce passivity that comes with nirvana

because you know that
while you can still convince yourself
there's something better in the future
barely
but barely is something still

even though presently

you are on a slab and you were Romeo
who believed he died alone, on the top

you are on a table dissected
metaphorically flayed and made raw

by the seeming death of passion, a lack of someone in your bed tonight,
and the slipped hand that pulled off your skin and made the feelings of the feelings that wound.