today i sliced my thumb open
doing something stupid

i

try to remember
to never

push against broken glass with bare hands

or slide my fingers into sharp places



but

today i sliced my face open

and

pushed my way into the front of my skull with my forefinger and thumb
holding the flesh open

i felt the bony ridge browline, with the pads of my fingertips

were the contours were not smooth as they should have been but
mountainous and irregular from

old

injury

you wouldn't know it to look at me but my
skull is irregular

and asymmetrical.

and
just a little bit jagged.




feel it and you can tell.



i could tell. i





sliced.
my face


open.



to tell. i




opened up my
skin

just to catch a glimpse.

at my

crooked eyesockets
and


they were hideous.




and





but you wouldn't know it just by my face.




or by the small scar beside my left eye that falls directly in the valley made by a crow's foot talon

i wonder

if
the wrinkles
are
from the scars or
if
the scars are just
conveniently

placed- today i sliced my face open


and
pushed my way into the front of my skull with my forefinger and thumb


with all the
viscera

of a madman

i've heard

the difference between medicine
and poison

is

in the dose.



but



i
never
stopped

breathing.

sometimes
breathing
­is all

you
can

do. and

i
sliced my

face




open
to
catch

a vision


i
guess

that
was
a pretty crazy thing
to do.





and
i wonder what

companionship, not compatibility.
i have chosen immobility.
once i lived in instability but now i live
in his advice.

so water melts to ice,
my science trusts the imprecise,
thus in this world,
such comfort will suffice.

thus in this world,
that i created,
my latest, unadulterated:
i will live in shallow vice
i will allow
such comfort to suffice.

im bilingual
i speak
english
and
baby talk

When I am older and my brain bleeds loss,
I will look for a glass under the autumn leaves.

When I am older and my heart leaks guilt,
I will cherish the hope that I have in the trees.

Once, I was older, and I used to bake souls,
in four walls of ash and of morning oats.

Once, I was older, and it was sweet like vanilla,
in a world which was so absent of hope.

I watch
as the ghost of you
        freezes
        to death
                       on the sidewalk.

The moon rose,
    and collected
    like dust
    on the back of his
                                    neck.

talkative dolphins, computer mice, and you & me
they're all things that click
your smile and stupid honey hair
they're all things that stick
in my memory like clichés and glue
like how I'm stuck on you

feelings and ridiculous bright eyes
they're all things I'm distracted by
also when we laugh so hard we cry
while I'm trying to pocket the sparks that fly
because they're unsuitable
but apparently immutable
just why...
why why why why WHY
why is it you
why does it have to be you

because the sinking feeling has sunk
that even if I was drunk
I wouldn't be able to tell you
the things I try to drown in fried food and old jazz songs
like how I've felt for so long
always trying to ignore it
as I awkwardly store it
wishing we'd explore that
you're the only one
that causes the stuttering and heart fluttering
and the poem's sputtering as the rhyme scheme cracks
while my feelings attack
and so much of me wants you...
and your stupid honey hair
to love me back.

I was the anchor to your voyage
—and you were the poison for my heart

They lied to us
    with preacher smiles
    at Sunday school

They told us
    our world was created
    in six days

We stood as one
    as our world was created
    in seven days

We stood as one
   as light sprang from darkness
   and earth fell from heaven

And after seven days
    we stood as one
    and marched into hell