Aug 27
i sit in a vague fugue as the flies buzz through the open window
they know death is near, blood seeping through the thin cotton of a school uniform. integrals curl up into manifolds as my vision blurs
i think of a rope around the neck, a bullet through the head, a clarity
from the yellow-wallpapered fluorescent hum
an eyelid twitches, mirroring the left leg. i push my knuckles against the edge of the desk. sharp metal bites a quick counter-subject to my mental funeral march.
i pick up my pen; the lecture wriggles back into the cerebellum with silver-tipped pincers and many many legs.
they know death is near, blood seeping through the thin cotton of a school uniform. integrals curl up into manifolds as my vision blurs
i think of a rope around the neck, a bullet through the head, a clarity
from the yellow-wallpapered fluorescent hum
an eyelid twitches, mirroring the left leg. i push my knuckles against the edge of the desk. sharp metal bites a quick counter-subject to my mental funeral march.
i pick up my pen; the lecture wriggles back into the cerebellum with silver-tipped pincers and many many legs.
to deal with constant dissociation and chronic pain i handmade a cilice to wear. it is as dostoyevsky said; i only wanted to be worthy of my own suffering.
