I don't think I can describe it, except by saying it "burns".
I don't mean it's a excruciating heat radiating from my body, cause by some out of body source, but from within.
I don't think I can breathe,
I don't think I can speak,
I don't think I don't think I can bare to be here much longer.
But yet, here I am.
Here I am with my arms crossed in-front of me and my face blank and eyes wide, lungs hollow, heart booming.
Here I am with the feeling of pulling a U-turn and driving home.
Here I am crawling back into my own skin trying to make sense of this mess.
But "I" don't even feel like "me".
I'm talking and driving and working,
but it feels like I'm not doing it.
Like I'm on auto pilot,
Like I'm on the outside looking in,
Like I'm possessed.
So I'm stuck, with this over-whelming burning sensation,
that feels like my chest is being ripped open,
with every fiber in my being screaming to go home.
But I don't.

I've halved the hinge on my head again
tripping lightly in this field of peonies

this moonless sky is singing her
lament of the darkness to the heavens

I have found a quilted universe
this should explain my absence
and the abyss in my eyes

This maize maze in autumn
reason lost to the haunted
the ghosts in their houses
that time has once
forgotten and revered,

rotted timber
is so tender when the rains pour in

my mind is a loud place
and my sugar skull is smiling
these colors will forever
remind me of home

there is fogginess
and yet i see every particle of air
the pieces that make up that particle
i focus to count
it blurs over again
i can hear the sound of so many things
cars swashing by
wind blowing
leaves rustling
but i can’t pick out the individual
the sound melds
all i can hear is grey

i can feel my mind inside my head
it is whole
it is nothing

I feel nothing
maybe I feel a cloud that only rains in my presence but
I really feel nothing

Sometimes I see myself
in the googles of someone else who is far
very far,
watching me on a screen
and whenever I start to feel
I can feel someone else overriding
my control of myself
I am pushed to the very backseat
despite calling shotgun.

I feel nothing
except for Zeus' anger
at the ***** of my feet
in the form of volcanic lava
bubbling and toiling
as it overrides the meniscus boundary
but now
I am here
me
I am here
in my car in the driver's seat
I don't have to call shotgun
because my unconscious
yes, mine
my unconscious is all mine
and now,
I have never felt more alive.

But the lava always cools and resides,
despite the internal temperature,
solidifying only to be melted again
and I am where I belong
I am right in the backseat.

It's been 6 days since my head filled with the impenetrable fog
6 days since the hands
pulling vinyls from their sleeves to place the needle on top of the grooves to play any distraction available
didn't fit my wrists the right way.
6 days since I made the conscious decision to intoxicate my brain to the point of fuzziness
and now the side-effects that embody the alcohol can't seem to stop coursing through each individual vein and artery
infecting my brain cells with rapid dexterity and a hazy heavy cloud that refuses to clear itself from my eyelids.
It's as if my whole body has been violated by a virus that has spread too quickly to identify and now every last nerve ending has ceased to send messages caused by reactions to tangible foreign bodies belonging to the world
outside my own physicality.
The feet encased inside my shoes are not my own
They no longer help me to stand with ease
or walk without stumbling
I am not here writing this
But my weakening limbs have detached themselves from the rest of me and now there are electronic mechanisms and chemical concoctions doing the job my senses have since given up on.
I am simply not me.
My teeth feel like aggressively inserted slabs of cold enamel constructed without consent behind the pair of lips that are slowly fading every day
These are not my nails scraping against the skin I no longer recognise and feel safe inside.
I feel like I am floating and everything happening around this body is affecting what it is supposed to
But I am the exception.
Every single inch of me is now wrong
Out of place
Unfamiliar and uncomfortable
All the physical feelings are now examined down to the most minuscule fragments
Heightened to the point that they are now extinct in the realm I still try to call "my" brain.
I don't want this.
I don't like this.
I want the substance that is poisoning me to drain itself from my blood
Something that now seems impossible to do.
A constant state of surreality in a more literal sense than I could have ever anticipated.
I didn't mean for this to happen.
I will never be able to identify what it was that flipped the switch labelled:
"depersonalise"
I can only make mere guesses and vague estimations as to how much longer I will have to spend inside the physical manifestation of a body from which my title of "proud owner" has been stripped.

It still comes back sometimes
In ebbs and faltering waves.
I move my hand to relieve an itch
Or follow more tablets
with a swallow of water
And for a second
it doesn't pass through my throat
my fingernails miss the bridge of my nose
my hands detach
I float without meaning to

6 days since the haze appeared

I guess I'll keep counting

I met an amazing girl, and yet again I'm terrified. The apathy looms, and scratches at my head, while I wonder if she will leave me. I can feel the disassociation laying next to me in my bed, telling me to go back to sleep.

I don't want to hold her back. I don't want to be her shadow.
I want be her inspiration, her light. Please, let it be.

here are my little daily deaths:
a careful cut on the wrist,
cigarette burn marks and
scraped knuckles,
leaving messages unread,
losing and forgetting
the importance of things,
the look in my mother’s eyes
right before i start to tear
this body apart
as if it’s some
worn down structure
too shaky to house
anything other than good intentions
(these are careful, practiced things)

the only way to stay present
is to stay up late for sins
i know i’ll regret in the morning
so i practice shrinking to radio static;
fade into the white noise
of school year loneliness.
i practice keeping still,
holding my breath
for hours at a time
before eventually,
still crackling,
i settle back into my skin