I hate it I
All the thinking I hate about the facts the lists no thinking that is about the pattern of the veins on a leaf
Fake thinking dead brain no reason to think; it is in scientific fact actually about inserting that five-thousand gauge lance into the throttled vein of a druggie
So tired that nonthinking becomes thought becomes effort slogging through moist warm suffocation air leaking pressing into the nares suffocating
Forced here there are cotton balls in my ethmoid air cells there are frogs hopping on my tympanic membranes there are leeches sucking blood straight out of my abdominal aorta
There are small carefully selected sea urchins and metal wedges inserted in the sulci of my brain
Electrified by eels swimming in my cerebrospinal fluid
Other ribs of other animals are sharpened and then placed carefully in my own intercostal muscles as punishment
Not quite piercing my lung pleura
I react to the xenograft but it can never be removed: That Is The Rules.
Other animals are crawling up and down the walls why is it always small animals crawling on the walls?
I wish I could pull one person for walking side by side with me
Holding my hands with both of their hands
But my hands have no nails anymore: they are peeled
Instead of nails I have bleeding stumps
The bleeding stump of the small boy injured by his cousin in the door with the bone sticking out of his shortened finger moaning through the ketamine it was not deep enough
I have accumulated all the injuries
That is why I am here
I collect them all that they may be replayed over and over again on my own body and on the bodies of the people I love, in my nightmares in my daydreams and there is not a single person here who would deny it – that they have this experience – except they all deny it, lies to cover up their carnivorous porous wilted souls, they refuse to realize that they are just here also to soak up the blood with their blood, to graft the skin with their skin
Nobody is a healer who is whole
For you must give away small pieces of your soul like chips flaked off dry low-quality clay
They will mix you in with sand and bake you sleep-deprived until you shred off, a universal donor
One day I will look in the mirror
After taking a pee in the disgusting bathroom that has toilet paper strewn about in fragments
And I will see dead eyes staring back.