human error viii.
Over the next few weeks
I watched myself
go into mayhem mode.
I brewed,
broke,
taped myself up again
and went into repeat.
Everything was burning;
the little Einsteins were shredding papers
and digging up
everything I managed to bury deep enough to forget
and it’s like they were trying
to unleash the wolves
I kept in the deepest, darkest parts of my brain.
They were thirsty for revenge.
I didn’t blame them,
but sometimes I wish that I’d tried
fighting back.
YOU ARE READING
glitch
PoetryI am a monster. Everybody knows it, but they're too afraid to say it out loud. My body's made of static and dead skin cells, and I don't know if knowing that i'm a failure is what makes me sad or if it's the fact that everyone else knows i'm a failu...
