Running running running running
Bury him in the dirt
Bury him in the flesh
Skateboard wheels run along the ground
Shhh shhh shhh
A digger splits the pavement
Water spills into a dead bird's beak
Ten pressed to the power line
A chaotic mesh wings snarled in the air
For a second an eye emerges
But reality shifts
A man fails committing suicide
They remove the tie from his throat and blood cells rush through his flesh
But his starved brain remains dead
And his daughter can't stand his stupid bloated face
Red leaves the color of blood
A dog breaks its leg crossing the road
Gutters overflow with spit
And fish swim until their ribs shrink
There's a heart in the centre of the earth
Oil spills into the gulf
Fire seals the exits
And twenty families drown
Sprinklers carry their bodies to the heavens
A newspaper kid sees them on his morning run and bikes around
Reality shifts
I'm caught in the whirl of my motions
Tumbling forward unable to grasp my presence
Reality shifts reality shifts reality shifts
But I'm not ready to shift with it
There's a dead bird in my pocket
I cross a road but the road is endless
I feel sick
Head on my knees
Awake in my bedroom
Construction workers lift the tarmac and reseal it
The old pieces pile where no one sees them
Decay codified in construction
Jesus, what am I saying?
Is any of this even real?
I've been gone a long time
Hands stuffed in pockets
Eyes set on dead grass, raindrops and McDonald's wrappers
People gather and break like tides
But I'm never one of them
I thought the mouth was for flesh
But it's for rot
It all makes sense now
Why Sunday mornings taste like glass
Because I can't stand myself

i feel it. nausea.
i feel it when i think of you;
i feel it when i think of them,
and what once was and could have been,
and how i let it slip through
my fingers,

cascading gently, gracefully and clumsily
past my cellulite flesh,
forming a deep pool,
for you all to splash about,
while i stay gripped,
by nausea.

it is my own fault -- this nausea
-- for i let it fester and fuel me with
anger and hate, bubbling and boiling
in my chest, but i watched.
i let it happen.
i let the nausea in.

nausea is my name.
it is the feeling of a cry i have been
choking on for what feels like 20 years,
20 years i have not lived but
have instead been gripped
by nausea.

There is a void outside my window.
Pitch cascading into itself.
No. I am mistaken.
It is just night.
Someone was knocking on my door at some point.
Nipah. Nipah.
Nevermind.
A curious hollow groan runs through the house.
Perhaps a tap is being turned.
Hiss.
A moth catches in a stream. Wet dust clambers for existence, affirmed in the moment of death.
Sometimes it escapes.
There is a glow.
A streetlamp lights up the void, strong enough to reveal a small part of the world, but too weak to remove the grain. The noise of existence.
Blood rushes through vessels. Neurons fire.
Silence is merely the body experiencing itself. The self subverted into the other.
Oh. I have slept through the day.
A train rumbles in the distance, sonorous and bleak.
A bird cries out into the void.
Nothing responds.
A miasma blankets the city.
The choke of lack.

Sit, fast.
Lie down if you find privacy.
It's a wave, cresting over you,
And you wonder,
Should I continue breathing?
Gulp, and let the wash begin.
Look to the feet first,
And calm your soles:
Work the legs,
Think outside the head,
But stay down -
You'll walk again,
And wait, and forget,
Then forgive yourself.

"Why prefer?"
I used to wonder.
But it may just be to do
With easing the nausea of a physical being
Who is dizzy and alone
An individual
Keeping it together
In the physical plane

at night
the sound shifts
and in the low hum of voices
I hear a silence hiding
a flower growing in concrete
laughter and sadness live
in this place
beacons, shedding light
on darkness
and how the dark
        will break your bones
        and turn your stomach
without the silence

you are the lump
preventing my swallow.
& nausea,
now a familiar friend,
feebly attempts to collapse your solidity
in the back of my throat,
as do the lies I tell myself aloud
in order to forget.

I wonder if you remember,
or does your new sun shine so bright
that she blinds you from your own past?
perhaps she's more of a
supernova, like you said
& so I'd like to think;
something temporary.

still, she came amidst fire & light
while I came with a
removable bow on top;
received pain on a similar platter
as that of my uneaten dinner;
I understand.

my final question is if that sort of
amaurosis makes you dizzy;
tell me,
what effect does she
have on your
stomach?

I don't know what to do,
It's getting so ridiculous,
I can't even walk beside you.

Your glittering eyes,
Your tall build,
These must all be lies,
With which I am filled.

Your first name is all I know,
No classes no hobbies,
None that I know.

Love at first sight is just a myth!
But your face, it, it's, I,

How can I love you when we've never spoken?
Who are you?
Where did you come from?
What is your name?
Am I going insane?

Butterflies flutter like there's no tomorrow,
Nausea kicks in; I panic,
I can't make eye contact in case you see,
I can't walk by without hinting a smile,
And I certainly can't talk without a stututtle.

Are you even gay?
I guess that's what I need to know,
Is your birthday in May?
I guess that'd be nice to know,
Next to me will you lay?
I guess THAT we'll never know.

There was a time I dreamt
As most people do
That the moon and the stars could be ours
But time passes, just as dreams are forgotten
Revealing the darkness I burrowed in my heart
No moon
Nor stars could ever be mine
Gifts of nature so distant
The river that cleanses
Erodes my once esteemed castle
The dam I built to stop its flow
Broke in the storms
My passions, and desires float away
Down the stream

I no longer dream
I gave them up for reality
That maybe nothing would ever be mine
O world of dreams
How I long to have you back

When my doctor diagnosed me as a schizophrenic,
My mother broke into tears, like it was worse thing anyone
Could be, I wanted to tell her to stop, it was starting to feel
Too unreal, I have been living in this mind for so long,
That I have turned against this world, which
Looks at me like I’m a burden to carry, I talk to air
Sometimes, it’s not insanity, not everything you can’t see is
Insanity, I sometimes see my grandmother, and I tell her
I miss her that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when she counted
Her last breath, you might feel it to be weird, but it’s not worse
Than this guilt gnawing at me, my mind is a canvas painted
By thousands of painters, and the pictures here don’t make sense,
But art doesn’t need to make sense.
I feel like a graveyard sometimes, haunted by the souls
That will never leave me, I feel like a morgue sometimes,
Walking around with my own corpse, that bleeds sometimes,
I am not abnormal or special or weird,
I see constellation in people, and I see a ray in you
When you smile, my hand stutters objecting to human
Touch, and I don’t call out for hugs, but this body could use some
Warmth, my imagination doesn’t run ahead, it goes round
And round,
Living in this body, is like inhabiting with a foe,
Which slowly takes over you, and you have no shield,
These meds help you sleep dreamless at night, but
They won’t protect you, nothing will be here to
Clutch on when demons that resides in you arrive,
So all you do is crawl on your bed, trying to take
As less space as possible, not letting the fear
Cover every part of you, you think you’re still here,
But you’re not, and thats exactly how it feels like
Living in a schizophrenic mind.