Sometimes I wish I didn't have ears to hear, dear,
eyes that'd be lost in a sea of salt water, effects unfounded, I fear.
I tried to multiply the designation of landed blows,
and where and when the next one happens, I'll never know.

A cushion of comfort, radius rewinding,
a stinging snakebite, un-healing, somehow reminding.
A breath, deep, swallowing rationality,
a misguided answer, pointing towards practicality.

Keep me bound, claws fixed in a fury,
bury me deep, cover these wounds in a hurry.
Pick up pieces of me leaving, chase me down as I'm retrieving,
draw a hundred different pictures, one broad brush I'm heaving.

Hands white, outlined in chalk,
Heart dark, filled in with hate-fueled talk.
Picture-perfect, broken camera, eyes red,
hate me now and love me yesterday after I'm dead.

Healing process exists, but I maybe missed the bus.
A broken cough, signs I'm sick, blink of an eye on the cusp.