Hospital
my life is a hospital, stagnant and paranoid.
I can never seem to leave -- always returning
more fractured than before. a lifetime of
broken bones is nothing compared to being
stripped of my personality.
begging them not to take my clothes away.
“being outside for one hour at a time is a
privilege. being yourself is a privilege.”
I etched a copper simulacrum
to convince them I am well enough
to go home
but I am not okay.
clutching suicidal thoughts and psychosis
like precious idols. gazing out the window
with revulsion, each face making my stomach
churn. soon I will be condemned to pace
that dismal hall again -- no different than
the ones in my mind
liberation
for decades I felt I was trapped inside myself
I realize now there is a whole world in me,
and that it resonates with the world around me
and I realize that the more I dance,
the more others want to dance with me
today I learned to fly
the urge to leave my body becomes
reality. mesmerized, I watch myself
break apart into a flock of starlings.
swirling through the skies, I soar
above houses and cars.
I settle in the cemetery; a few of me
seek shade in the trees while the rest
of me peck at the grass for insects
and seeds.
I return with dismay to my human
form and walk back to my apartment.
the bathroom mirror is in shards --
blood everywhere -- I look down
and my arms are covered
with gashes.
Deluge
floating further away. there is just the sky and empty
halls that you wander, alone. this room is all you know,
and your bed, and neither shed a single stroke of comfor
anymore.
a deluge soaks into your brain.
instances fade like old polaroids.
it's rained in here for days and years. the sky turned
grey and is falling to pieces. an ocean between us, now.
on this island of scattered worlds I excavate the shore;
gather sand from all our brightest days; send it to you
in bottles that drift in the tide.
on suicide
I have concluded
that, within me,
there is not truly
a wish to die.
these visions of death
presented to me
are illusions.
rather, there is
an agonizing
and inescapable
need to experience
myself, my true self,
in spite of the spectres
which haunt every
moment of my being.
