Chew on me. Eat at my soul. Make it a slow and languid cannibalism, like autolysis, I will slowly dissolve into a puddle of mind and shattered hearts. Every breath draws quicker... every thought turns to acid... every echo speaks an atlas worth of troubles. And I am trapped in this cage of grey matter, coiled tightly into a ball of flesh. The pressure of the depths surround me and I can't even find a moments rest. I've licked at wounds before, but now they all spring open to give birth to a million ravenous demons I had thought long buried. Fuck, it's the twisting tiny hands of fate pulling me to pieces, stretching me open for a shuddering moment filled with all the little lies I tell myself to get by, and foremost of all is that.. everything will be alright. I can't do this, even this backpack filled with the map to tomorrow has become lead... sad. It used to feel like sunlight at the end of a tunnel. And all they say is prescriptions. Every tool they hand me is useless faced with this hideous demon. And worst of all, it's coming out of me... am I really this hideous? Is this flesh as well as feeling? Can I really be as hopeless as this heart of mine tells me? Am I... drowning again?
YOU ARE READING
Floating
PuisiI've collected a lot of works I have made for me and thrown them into a mess of empathic poetry I have done for others.
