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Face in toilet.
…You’re like glamorous depression.
Because I can’t hide from myself.
I came back to this disastrous reality,
came back on Halloween, but
returning that empty November morning,
with my soul as baggage
giving up my hope and my happiness,
keeping every drop of my blood.
You can’t have that,
too.
Today is just like that day,
even.
Once I would have sunk and swallowed a pill.
Today I am too nauseous.
Today nervousness plays dress up
on my large intestines.
Everyone has left me,
even my muse.
My soul mate.
His laser eyes.
He stays in my heart,
a brittle green goblin.
4 years of such large occupation!
4 years of manic and of depressive!
O I’m starving! I’m starving!
I could have been overjoyed several times
or had all new friends.
It was a long trip with little days in it
and no new places.
Meanwhile,
It seeped into my mother,
Wrapped her in plastic,
as she ate her gloom cookies.
Entangled her heart
and shut her up.
That was the winter,
that my stepfather died,
Inside us, at least.
Completely consumed.
Crushed by rocks.
I was his evildoer.
In fact,
I carried his hate on my sleeves,
I wasn’t sure if I would feel again
Or drown in such detestation.
I told him,
I said –
but I was lying.
That my hate was for my stepfather…
And then I left you,
you left me.
I have come back,
but danger is not what it was.
I’ve lost the just of it!
The glamour of it!
I have comeback,
revised.
Etched in ripples like a vinyl record,
playing a new song.
But,
this is sadness,
still,
a kind of appetite.
I want cake!
Can you even hear me?
My dumb mouth,
to your deaf ear.
In my Sunday best,
it’s hardly a feast.
Now,
I’m too plump.
I need to vomit.
Those I love,
turn away.
Those I –
remain.
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