"if you count to ten, do you feel
any lighter at all?"

another night. another set
of infinite numbers.
every one that i
count weighs down on me,
pressure building behind my eyes,
boulders on my shoulders
and shackles to my wrists.

another day. alienating
everyone.
pushing
for the sake of pushing,
kneading at pressure points -
boom.
pushing and pushing every button
like a kid in an elevator.
punching at raw material until it sags
and self-destructs, until they
whip back and attack me,
make me feel the anger and hatred -
oh, the hatred -
that i feel for myself.

because i want to feel this way.
i want to be alone, because
i deserve it.
i deserve tears and blood and burning.

i deserve isolation.

i am terrible.
i am not human.
i am the monster,
every form of it.
i am the oozing jealousy
and the sting of cruel
wit. i am the slow burning
loathing and the white hot
rage at something so inconsequential.
i am the deepest pit of
black and the void that
cannot be filled, that
vacuums every living thing
down into its belly.

i cannot feel lighter when
the whole of this world i've
swallowed rests on my
back.

no, i'm not lighter. i'm
weaker. the weakest, most
wicked beast
to roam these halls.

it is all too much.
all too much.

i deserve the weight.
let it drag me down into
black oceans, because
i won't fight it anymore.