The shockwave hits your throat
so fierce, it forces your own voice
from your own body.
The momentum it contains, unconstrained
by your silent spectre
rushes forward like thunder
into the levee of your knees, and strikes
the way lightning fells trees.
You're nothing but lymphnodes, flood
and weight, now.
The rest, like last night's dream
washing away the moment before you remember.
The aftershocks ripple like echoes,
capsaicin in the nerves
of all your timber limbs
dismantled and thrown to the horizon.
You hover above
what it felt like
to exist.
It rests on the tip of your tongue, a moment.
Nobody really knows the difference between
a moment and eternity.
Below the folds of water, sweat and skin
the ground is offering whispers
bubbling soggy underfoot.
They might be yours.
They say it comes from the ground up
Channels reaching channels to connect
in a flash
a crack
again
to body
even
if only
a moment.

A bridge broken from one side to another.
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.

Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.

A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.

Danger
Danger
Danger
Do not approach

This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.

Overheating
Overworking
Overdoing
Over

Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.

"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No.
No. Because it's broken.

Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting

Crackling
Clicking
Clattering
Clanking
Clunking

The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.

It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode

05/25/2018

i think that the crippling, 12 month long period of dissociation that plagued my ability to do everything that i once loved is starting to go away. i drove the thirty miles to the point of the island where there are no more bodies of land for as far as the eye can see - i rekindled my friendship with the ocean today. i built a fort out of all of the driftwood that had gotten caught in the swell and swept to shore, i smoked my spirit blind, and when the sun went away and it started to rain i cried and i cried.

I feel lonely in the way that creeps under a closed door in the middle of the night and wraps around you as you sleep.
A way that you wake up with in the morning when the sun still hasn't risen.
Somehow the tears aren't spilling down your cheek, but you know they're there.
No one else can see them.

I feel lonely in the way that wraps it's fingers around your throat in a crowded room.
Like when it's your birthday and you know everyone is there for you, but you can't accept that truth.
Your only thought is that everyone is fake, and you too must shine a false smile for this fictional scene.
No one knows the difference.

I feel lonely in the way when you look deep into a mirror.
The eyes staring back at you appear to be nothing but black holes. They are not connected to a body. You have no way of knowing if you exist or not. You touch your face, your hair. You smile, laugh.
You don't know yourself anymore.

I feel lonely in the way a heart stops beating. Like the feeling inside my chest. When every beat feels sharp from the excruciating pain it takes to keep breathing.
The thought that everyone in this world, including yourself is fictitious. A world you made up in your head. And if you were dead?
A dream is just a memory after all.

Dysmorphic

Whenever I see the word “noon”
I sit and I stare at it.
Logically, I know that it’s spelt right,
But the perfect palindromous parallel
Just looks wrong.

Sometimes in band, I hear a sound
And it’s just not right.
Logically, I know that it’s fine,
But the slight tremor torturing the technique
Just sounds wrong.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror
And I don’t recognize me.
Logically, I know the body I see is me,
But the soul inside is suffocatingly stifled,
And I feel wrong.

I don't understand
All the things that I feel
This anger isn't genuine
It's spawned from sadness
From hurt
From pain
I love you undeniably
And it feels like
You dont feel the same