I rise and I fall,
My mind is a racetrack.
I want it all and I want it back,
I’ve been here before: flashbacks, retreat and starting over.
Not as a rule, just survival.
My mind takes off again.
And there is no plug, no light switch.
There is no way I want this as my routine again.
I gave up so much the last time I got out of the ward.
Mind peeling away the rinds and underneath I find that I am responsible for the output, and what goes in, and nothing more.
I’m getting used to feeling this way and choosing to feel nothing at all…
Passing offensive fodder through your skull,
it makes me sad when I think about us.
Dad, I don’t know you- it’s not like I don’t care,
the broken spiderweb,
mayflies torn of wings, left to die,
and the flow interrupted by the ebb
If your ears syphon it in and exhale,
it only ends up pressure in my head– a burden I don’t need,
and definitely don’t want,
tripping over mountains- we couldn’t scale from one side to the other.
We weren’t meant to understand what life is like without.
This nonsensical twisted lingual stretched to capacity
the nerve of me as an individual, and the audacity
my raw nerve and the nerve endings, folding in on themselves.
Just tell me you love me and let go of yourself
your old self, and the scattered ideas that shift and inseminate the open air,
where people who once cared,
can’t be forced to be anywhere near.