my veins had enough,
 you need to stop,
 before my veins go pale.
They had it enough,
 they had it enough.

easier to map veins than to explain
 why I count the seconds
 between every line break,
 every moment of vulnerability.

my soul craves to be ANAESTHETIZED;
 it hums, it drums, STATIC GOSPEL,
 or sometimes a SYSTEMATIZED WAVE—
 and yes, i hear you judging the word choice,
 the cadence, the rhythm.
it pulses LOUD, proud,
 even if you pretend it doesn't.

to Matty, my runaway—
 could you put a BARRICADE
 over this TIDE, tide,
 this tidal drift dragging me deeper?
or will you just read it like a country not your own,
 just someone else’s suffering?

i told, i told you,
 my voice, foam in your ear,
 fizzing, fractured whisper.
everyone can see it—
 VICTIM manifesto, i see…
 i even see you seeing me.

blue, faded SUSURRATION in my head;
 if they were NEON, they'd blaze,
 bright enough to blind you instead,
 and i would notice if you flinch or scroll past.

my TRIBUNAL looms,
 sermoning my soul for DROWNING,
 and yes, i am aware
 how performative that sounds.
i envy you so much:
 UNBEGOTTEN relic,
 haunting with those VOICES,
 every time,
 every time you read me.

you are so OBSCURE
 when you check others' drifting heights and legs.
you WISH, you wish—
 and i am aware of how that repetition hits
 as if you feel it too.
and still, the tide keeps coming.

but i don't know how to write without you watching.
 your rotten voice, mouth ulcers,
 the ORIGIN of OCEAN in your indifference—
 i record it here anyway.
EVOKE me! EVOKE me!

what if you were always right?
 what if you never looked
 at me the way i meant?

Matty had as many anxious tics as i did.
 the gothic cathedral i built with words,
 and how nothing of it mattered,
 was the warning i embedded for anyone reading this.

my chest tight,
 my hands shaking as i type this,
 already knowing you won't read it the way i meant it.

and still—
 my veins had enough.