It seems the little man with his hammer and chisel,
Has cracked the top of my skull,
Made a crack not so little,
And now my brain’s far too full,

Tick tick tick,
Ting ting ting,
He caused a split,
Heavy hitting,

This migraine is mine,
There’s not enough time,

Not enough,
        Time.

A place just for me, you see.
I can hid there and never be seen.
In this place I typically don't cry.
I am the real me, no need to cut me ear to ear just to see a smile here.
You see dear, if I ever were to tell you what I imagine here you'd have me sent away.
Would you like a little insight?
Shhh, don't tell of these words.
I think of taking the blade that sits there in the corner and slicing my wrists.
Letting the blood drip.
I find it fascinating to hold my hand up, like I could just grab a star.
But then the reality is, I am only holding my arm up to let the blood run down it.  
I let it pour out.
Its no longer a drop or two,
I've grown out of that faze.
I like thinking of the acetaminophen sitting just 4 inches away.
I reach for it, it rubs against my finger tips
I can't grasp it,
palms too sweaty and hands too shaky.
I finally get it into my reach.
I reach in with my ****** index and pointer fingers,
I get out just two pills.
It is just a start I tell myself, just enough for a deep sleep.
But then I remember I never want to be woken up.
I swallow the two pills and pick up the blade again.
I carve "victim" into my thigh,
that's what I was my whole life.
I get some blood on my fingers,
I am aware I have only a few minutes before I become dizzy.
I start writing my suicide note to my family.
I am writing it my blood.
Maybe I could have left something more beautiful,
imagine not being able to find your daughter but when you did she was in a puddle of blood with ****** writing surrounding where she lays, limp and cold.
I reach for the bottle of acetaminophen.
I need more, lots more, to reach my desired amount of sleep.
I pour the bottle on my hands, one pill falls, then two, then three.
I eventually lost count.
I careful place each and every pill on my tongue.
I let each one represent everything bad I have been called, and everything bad i've been forced into.
I step closer to my deep sleep.
I feel the ***** coming up my throat,
Like the demons crawling up  my insides.
I ***** up water, I haven't eaten in days.
I *****, and then curl up into a ball,
I am surrounded by my own blood.
I'm slipping away,
I can feel it.
Good night, I whisper.
*H.T

Temptations have left me forsaken
but my will was only shaken
shortly leaving some mistaken
that I would falter to the poison of my generation
I seek salvation
In a place built upon degradation
I pick at the foundation
Wishing for a system malfunction
The gears have given me an allergen
The pushed solution cut with acetaminophen
To numb the blind into oblivion
A wise man seems much like an alien
Corruption rises as the population lays down
Praising kings without a crown
Pasting plastic smiles over the town
This massive break from reality has really paid off
The fruits we'll never see and rich we'll never be
No matter how much cash you receive
Consider your soul far out of reach

Under supervision of the sun, his fingertips are full of love;
when he lives with the moon, hands form fists, the doors and walls have holes—
muscles catch fire:

trying to force infantilization,
sticking nametags to every available swatch of fabric hanging
from her bony frame.

Her skin is peeling like dried paint curls from the wall.
She brushes it down like pushing
up her sleeves, feigning
a tough exterior.

The bathroom door explodes: her palm
is to her mouth; four horse pills
sit uncomfortably on her squirming tongue—
fatalist palmistry.
A single blow to her thoracic spine
(vertebra seven through nine, to be precise)
and the tile floor is medicated with
slimy, secondhand acetaminophen.

Pale worn flesh meets rug burn between
the bathroom and the walk-in closet where
she will huddle on the floor, shaking,
shuddering,
tiny bones ready to crack—

strong arms wrap around and pull her close.
Frail child-size hands catch hundreds of tears ‘till
one big, calloused mitt takes over.

His hand is to her little pink lips and
a tiny cold something tries to find a way in—
epiphany:

she greedily devours the lonely pill and
begs for the other three quarters
of her suicide.

Cynical laughter denies her pleas;
her lungs rip stale air from
mothball collections stored upon the shelves,
from shirts hanging stiffly,
buttoned,
ready for action that never comes,
from pants that lay lazily across
cheap plastic hangers.

She siphons O2 with her windpipe:
heaving sobs, obnoxious wailing, disgusting, guttural noises,
black mascara tire tracks—
she would swear on anything that her ribs were going to give.

****
*****
****
*****
*******
stupid
******

Hazy home-video recordings on loop in her brain, the words
pound her body like hail and
the memories won’t leave. They’re bleeding
from her ears and eyes and her assailant stares on,
irritated.

“Drama queen,” he reminds her.

Same as always, she cries
herself sick, he tucks
her into bed. Morning sunshine
shows bruises and she hides them
in her sweater.

Another flimsy paper hospital accessory, more
radiology tech jokes about her clumsy
hands, her butter-fingers.

And when asked her name, there’s
hesitation
‘cause she’s got to remember which nametag
he let her wear today.

And so as a man, a job,
a cactus wearing a business suit sharing relations with the hydrant down the street.

A ***** strapped to a baby carriage with plastic baggie cellphones
yelling "run away now"
to the grass at his feet.
A man devoid of water, rather.

These are the times

A well, emptied.

Rather death
find waves of spilled milk and
all the fat people, skinny.

A dry mouth desert, kneeling
In either breath of a living feeling
or the one that talks of so much
for only the wealth of his screaming.

Some tiny furniture talked all night about running through wheat,
ebbing and flowing against the end tables,
then falling short as crumbling tree leaves.
An ottoman as recycle bin holding stem
from stem of watermelon children
and vine-ripened acetaminophen.

Some odd truth told the blowing wind that
God does cartwheels with Lucifer at random.
It then billowed out about
his ***** underwear and holy fodder for memorandum.  

I would say a man, a vision,
A little girl using a GPS to calculate the distance from the rest her teething.
Instead, she found a funny barbeque ***** playing hog-tied pharmaceutical reps into neoprene
mud-flapping pigeons.

I would say the sinking plastic six-pack islands revealing trash limbs,
sunken,
honest,
grim.

Life, itself, must move in tandem to only fleeting geese.
Though in plan, the artisan-picking fruit of word must be depicted.
Live in sin and ignorance much like the
breaking news walking on broken record.
And so as a man; a fear.
He looked down, staring at no one
with bare feet and shaken, coconut flavored palm trees.

Dopamine and acetaminophen.
Overdose and recoup.
Red and blues you can swallow like candy.
Controversial tests of trust and health.
Shiny coated treats to take you away.
Whichever you chose be careful.
It's chemical warfare.

walk side streets
   alone - headphones.
zones of melody
   channeling canals
deeper than all
   the billboards basted
by bad barters.
  
   must’ve been mistaken.
although their dressed
  up, they’re simmering
thin - acetaminophen.
  finished, drugged bugs
cling strings holding
   last lines of defense.

Breathe, breathe.

Count to ten, count to ten.

Stare at the clock, watch the hands move.

I'm nervous, the room is quiet, I'm waiting outside, waiting for my new born son to arrive. Thoughts collide in and out of my head. The doctor calls me in and said "let's meet your new baby boy" I held him for the first time and stared at my wife, "honey look our own bundle of joy"

She laughs with tears in her eyes, he's finally arrived.


Breathe, breathe


Another drink, another drink

Stare at the walls till they fade

Its been a year now and the only place you can find me is at the bottom of a bottle or on the couch, my wife and I don't even sleep in the same bed, my drunken thoughts collide in and out my head, that baby has stolen everything from me and I'm so angry.

Jesus Christ, my vices have become my new religion and resentment has become the pavement of this road I'm walking and the devil is stalking right behind, to pour me another glass of liquor so I never have a sober moment, I'll sit still with no movement.

Breathe, breathe

Another beer, another beer


State through the windshield of my truck that's in front of the garage we call home.

More years have flew by, I lost my job and I lost our home, my two kids have no true roof over their head, they just have a mother who works endlessly to fulfill their every dream. What am I doing to my family? God, if you're their why have you forsaken me? I just can't let go of this bottle it's my only home but I'm so alone, I have nothing to show for this "home" it's boarded up windows and ***** floors, what sickening entity have I absorbed?
Constant thoughts of suicide have finally arrived.


Breathe, breathe

Another bottle, another bottle

I'll sit in the garage of the new house we bought and drink myself to death.

Its been 10 years now, drunk and angry my son acts playfully "it's late what are you doing up?" He just wants to spend time with dad, I can't shake the feeling of being drunkly mad, so a hit to his face should make him go away or maybe, if I tell him I hate him he won't stay. Fight after fight, with my wife she files for divorce, of course I try to fight back but I don't have what it takes all I do is lack so I pack my stuff and head out the door, my bones are rotting to the core, I'm fine I'll just head to the store and by a pack.

Breathe, breathe


Another pill, another pill

I stare at the mirror, at who I've become.

I'm sick, alcohol never did the trick.

I'm sick and my best friends are prozac,  xanax, acetaminophen and dextromethorphan..when I did become an orphan? This despondent skin I call home is blistering in the winds of the winter, so please just let me wither, in this ****** weather, because whether or not I wanna save myself, my mind is tethered. 

I cannot fathom, how I miss my family but tore them apart individually and entirely.

All I ask is you forgive me while trying to forget me.

I would have to rely
on drugs
in order to recover
from you

Acetaminophen
for the pain
that never seems
to go away

Lithium
to keep me sane
for a functioning brain

Propofol
for temporary euphoria
a tinge of a smile
even just for a while

Cepalin
for the scrapes
and for the
scars to fade

All knowledge used
and resources searched
still I couldn't find the cure
to make me forget you.

Migraine

Throbbing noises , neon lights
Please ! Go away
Smell of caffeine ,
It's being unendurable
Oh ! Aura stabbed me
Torment troubles somewhere around
I want the drug acetaminophen
Don't drill my cerebrum
Head is walking with nightmares
Monsters are advocate there
I need relief
Agony is so inconsiderate
Fire is in brain and flood in the eyes
ibuprofen ? Didn't work !
Headache is still over eye
Though attack is fixed for skull ,
I'm taking high dose aspirin
Now , I'm gonna sleep with migraine
And wake up with migraine .

©Smriti Ranabhat

the blood is pooling down my wrist
and pills bubbling in my throat
i cannot live a life like this
i cannot go on with life holding me captive.

the scars don't hold enough
to make me stop cutting
the hospitalizations don't weigh enough
for me to stop trying

i will win this battle with
acetaminophen
i will win, the devil's will lose

or is it the other way around
you talked me into it
your stupid ******* words and all their carelessness
wash it down with liquor
you know it's worth nothing
to say i love you

the words don't come as slow as they used to
a little bit of knowledge will destroy you
i'll miss the music
i'll miss the days
i'll miss waking up to sunrise
and you delivering my pills
i'll miss you caring every single second of the day
i'll miss you hoping i'll be okay

but this time i wont
this time i can't stay
because a boy destroyed me,
shattered my already broken core

all that will be left
is bones

I am hungry and I am not silent
I am thirsty with a cask full of headaches -  but I don't partake
I am mindful of the acetaminophen with codeine
because they take the pain away...

So I am no longer hungry
and the thirst continues with the glass 1/2 full
salt pepper and sugar mixed with baking soda add cupful of flour and raw egg. I can certainly add mayonnaise

MIX &EA;;   MIX &EA;;   MIX &EA;;  

and she tells me that she loves me
and she expels her lonely thoughts
and she runs in circles with clarity
as the clock continues to tick

as my hunger persists for hours and days upon days that last
I can no longer go through this
and all is becoming useless
as the type written lines are becoming shorter

my height has become my tolerance...

I'm a chemist too, Walter. Don't believe me? Just take a look at my blood. This iron, albuterol sulfate, acetaminophen, all this? I did it.

Don't force my hand, sweetheart.
Don't bite the poet that feeds.
Don't lick the flames that keep that rage you have going, you'll lose your identity.
Don't make your mother scream if you don't want to count bruises.
Don't be too soft, child.
Don't be too ugly, boy/girl/parasite.

Your God's a lion, recently fed, drowsy.*

I wish you'd believe me when I say I'm sick, Dad. My tongue's falling out.

Dear Pastor,
I was wandering the church yesterday, and there was a lady crying in your office. Do you know anything about that?  Anyway I'm just writing to say: I know you came from that little mud hut in Uganda or something, and I can tell that this is your chance to start anew, but its getting a little crazy here. I heard that like, Four babies overdosed on acetaminophen under your watch. I don't know how true that is, but I believe it. And Whats that rumor that you are starting a zoo all about? Sounds pretty genuine. And the Christmas tree is hanging from the ceiling, because the toothless **** head bit you? Not very forgiving of you. All that going on and you're building a castle? Eh, whatever, you ain't special. Thomas More wrote Utopia before you started blabbing about it.

Sincerely,

Un-Baptised degenerate.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Night Court

For the Prosecution: Spring Allergens
For the Defense: Anti-Histamines and Acetaminophen

If only headaches went away at night
They don’t, and a fresh catalogue of pills
Does nothing except fog reality
The world spins on and on, and sometimes off

The pillow is a bitter accuser
Detailing again all of life’s mistakes
The sheets and blankets wrinkle in disdain
The world’s last spring-wound clock grinds through the hours

Maybe the world will stabilize at dawn
If only the headaches will go away

you will learn to shift your weight around
You will learn to lean against things
To always clutch handrails

You will learn to rate things from one to ten ten being the worst you’ve ever felt

You will learn loss
You will lose functionality
You will lose what you used to love doing
You will learn not to partake in barbecue games, bowling nights
You will learn to politely decline invitations
You will lose friends
Hobbies
Muscle memory

You will learn to accept it
You will learn that it is unacceptable

You will lose sympathy for others
You will lose track of things
You will learn that there is always something more to lose
You will learn to hold just a few things sacred
to cling only to that which you cannot lose
You will learn that those things too can be lost

You will learn to hate god

You will learn how unobservant most people are
You will learn not to disclose
You will learn what not to say to avoid their suggestions and advice

You will learn to be alone

You will learn the difference between NSAIDs and acetaminophen
between hydro and oxy
the difference between SSI and SSDI
between deductibles and out of pocket maximums
You will learn to cry in hospital parking garages
You will learn the limits of modern medicine for the working and middle classes
You will learn to lower your expectations
You will learn the definition of the word palliative

You will learn to live with it
You will learn to smile for pictures
You will learn to claim a seat early
You will learn to summarize
You will learn good days and bad days
You will learn sorry I know this is last minute but I have to cancel

You will learn to love deeply
You will learn to apologize profusely

You will learn how successful other people will become

You will learn what it means to be a body

You will learn so much
You will learn so so much

It will never really go away, and I am coming to accept that.
It will be there like the copper aftertaste of cheap chocolate that oils the roof of my mouth
Like the scoff of my shoes on the hotel carpets that’d annoy my father
The ticking of the clock ten minutes off during practice
The icy temperatures of the history classroom as I attempt to pay attention
Like the rattle of the acetaminophen tablets in my pill bottles
The sweaty nights accompanied by tears and fretting for the morning
The feeling in my stomach when a test is placed in front of me
Like the way he looks at me from down the hall with wandering eyes to match his heart
The way my compass sometimes catches on the surface of the paper and ruins the circle entirely
The moment of panic before I remember my locker combination
Like the cold feeling of going to sleep with wet hair and stubbly legs
The dry tightness of my skin after washing my hands
The cracking of my face  under my nose due to rough tissues
Like the threatening surfaces of frozen water in the parking lot
The gagging taste of cough syrup as it spills down my throat
The embarrassment of not knowing the answer in class and sputtering out “uh”s and “um”s
But accepting that doesn’t rule out the good
There will be days filled with shocking ecstasy
Like the moment a snow day is announced
The grade boost after a well prepared for test
A good night’s sleep
Warm days
Cold nights
New sweatshirts waiting to have memories sewn into their fibers
Putting lotion on after shaving
Buying bed sheets
Drinking tea
Finding a new band
Going to concerts
Living
Breathing
Beating
Moving
Feeling
Loving
Maybe it's not so bad if I accept that my days won’t be perfect
After all
Balance is key in the face of diversity

father awakened

beckoned by bathroom in night

his death approaching like headlights in

rear-view

in cars he careened into cornfields so

long ago

in women he obsessed over

poured over while rolling tea

in records he flips through

languidly

suffering alone, retracting into song

crucifix still hung over his jaded bedpost

lotion still sits on by his bed

where he lay debased and tempted

by nothing

while his house breaths fissures

and crumbles

where his legacy sits truncated and dusted

in books of song

carpet collecting impressionistic stains

stove top counting days with soot

medicine cabinet reminds of his frivolous

youth

when he was foolish and paid bills

before he was afraid to climb his creaking

stairs

before he delivered flowers to the funeral

home

before the acetaminophen ate his soul

—How are you?
—Gettin' by
—Good
—Yep
She was on her third bourbon as they exchanged texts. The smell of it wafted in her face as she held the snifter up to her nose. The sweet syrupy smell of cheap bourbon. She dangled a cat toy in her free hand while the black and white and tabby thing watched the feather sway back and forth in the air. Head turning with each pass like the cat wall clock they used to have when she was little. The clock's eyes glowed in the dark. And it was really dark at night back then when they lived out in the middle of a farming settlement in western Pennsylvania. The interior of the single-story ranch house was decorated in classic fifties kitsch: braided rag rugs clashing with the Oriental lamps, green leaf wallpapering, and glow-in-the-dark cat wall clocks. She took a sip of the room temp bourbon then set the glass down. The cat had lost interest in the dangling feather cat toy so she set that down as well. She got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. She peed, washed her hands in the sink, then steeled herself for the obligatory glance in the mirror. What she saw: an image of a woman that didn't immediately plummet her into an abyss of self-loathing. She would settle for that. She reflexively opened the cabinet door: hair clips, tweezers, baby oil, alcohol, cotton swabs, dental floss, Zoloft, Estradiol, acetaminophen, double-edge razor blades, no razor. She closed the door then said to her reflection: "We should get out of here. Dontcha think?" She looked away, then back again, flounced her hair, and said: "Or dontcha?"

Where does one begin?
Digging through the skin?
Or maybe I should start with something deeper within?
You rip out my teeth,
In a bid for relief,
But the joke is on you, because down underneath
it all
falls right down again,
drowned in acetaminophen,
And somewhere along the way,
we heard somebody say,

"Now,
there's footprints on the wall,
leading down the hall,
your actions may be big, and yet, your heart is still small."
The voices try to sing,
yet all I hear's a ring,
but when I listen closely I can make out some thing
that says
"You can get up again,
you're stronger than you've ever been."
And somewhere along the way,
I knew I'd be okay.

3am and abruptly, I'm awoken
By yet another flashback
Accompanied by a throbbing headache
Reminding me I'm broken
But that's nothing but a bed of roses
Compared to the knives I had to endure with him
Two, four, six, not even ten
Pills of acetaminophen
Put me back to sleep
In my agony I lay back
Struggling not to relive the experience
But again I feel hands that creep
And explore my unwilling body
Ripping me of my wings
Leaving me all ******
My heart's pounding
My body's burning
Oh God! Does this ever end?
I guess not
Maybe its true trauma lasts forever
Because it's been 12 months
And it's been haunting me ever since

Eased warm in acetaminophen titled floor
Lowered by my case at the front door
Nonlinear effecting the way out of all walking path, people’s province, townspeople who has ghosts; and are drunk from pink mascara to moscato ... Gailo franchises looks that are covering by the book! We’d typically have articles about ethology writers or establish their beliefs at least but just once could section couture be asked to be more than of their shameful behavior and opinions? Steroids ate some kind easy wake and the welcoming back seeing aesthetics center should be esteemed ... warm-hearted time early *** coffee we’re having and downright delicious. Errands, wardrobe twinkling, rather be sure. Read my wetter rare picture changes etched onto the wall serfs this fall steadily rising from a new start to a new year.

The pressure
weighing
in
   The sky
sinking
thin
   The body
hurts
acetaminophen

analogous to hatches being
battened down
courtesy COVID-19 12+
(Pfizer only) and Flu Vaccine (65+)
October 31, 2024,
which found me convalescing
one day later with minor aches and pains
remedied with acetaminophen.

More than 1 million people died
from COVID-19 in the US
since the virus first emerged
in Wuhan, China
in December 2019.

On March 11, 2020,
the World Health Organization
characterized the outbreak as a pandemic.

Now approaching the fourth year anniversary,
the availability of effective inoculations
offers blessed intervention
to mitigate serious complications.

I (unlike the missus)
no longer don a mask,
nevertheless wash hands frequently
as a reasonable precaution
to maintain health of body,
mind and spirit triage.

While stayin' alive at sixty five,
(people passing me right and left
along the boulevard of broken dreams)
I try to be proactive
toward mental, physical,
and spiritual wellness,
whether spending leisure hours
engaged with efforts that exercise
the, body, mind, and spirit triage
abstaining from watching television
versus reading one among
a small number of magazines
or becoming engrossed
courtesy well written book.

I also try my hand
crafting a poem
linkedin to some significance
regarding particular present date
shown by the calendar
usually an event that impacted
and affected me to become
calm, cool, and collected or irate
for better or worse
my mental, physical, or spiritual state.

When emotionally, physically,
or spiritually unwell,
when nada one iota of bliss prevails
toward favorite activity
such as: kickstarting
hairbrain scheme to get rich quick
painting the town red,
underwater basket weaving
(or other idioms pejoratively used
to describe college courses
considered to be useless or absurd.

I tout resting
and becoming comfortably numb
(while listening to white noise
issuing from a fan or heater,
which whirring or humming sound
frequently nudges me
into deep sleep with nary a hitch)
if general malaise pervades
thru these lovely bones,
which actually scream out for exertion
(and no excuse exists
since getting a smart haircut

going on a couple months already,
and making cleanliness
next to the closest approximation
an atheist can attain of godliness)
cuz I knew my slovenly appearance
(a passive aggressive
silent rebel yell
against the establishment -
mainly the liberal strictures
of my father and mother)
would be a deterrent
within a social situation.