the peroxide sizzles as it hits my skin
inflammation in something
that never should have been
streaks across my arm
like the scratches of a cat
yes, that's what they are
though my cat ran away a few years ago.
what was it i did it with
and what was the reason
my anguish
or just my own personal need?
it feels better
it feels refreshing
it feels good to feel the air
kiss that raw skin
psychotically dancing around the demons in my head—
sorry, i meant heart.
i think i am becoming transparent again
i spoke yet no one heard
the radio was cranked up
yet everyone seemed deaf
to the words of someone's heart
that had been laid out before them
so obvious, so clear, yet they can't see
it's not you, it's me.
no, it's not my fault
i know that
i mean
i don't know
what i know
these memories
are also not my own
what am i saying
it's getting late again
the evening is settling down in my head
nesting its little children into pockets
making itself at home
because maybe the reason
why we are not afraid of fire
maybe the reason
why we are so tempted to touch it
is because we came accustomed
to making a hell
out of home.
