From the ventricular beating comes the pulse

Of the stinking iron between my teeth

And punching of my neck

From the rotting of the palate comes the heave

Of the dreaded desert breath

And choking stones

From the tremor of the limbs comes the aching of the flesh

The rash and heavy lids

Of stinging iris

From the throbbing squirm of the cerebrospinal snake

...

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i'm sick of doing the best i can
because it isn't ever enough
if I can't be good,
what's the point of being here at all?

I never sleep well anymore
even though I tell the doctors I sleep fine
I just stare at the ceiling
and live through the lives of others

sit in class with an ache behind my eyes
I can't even tell if the pain is real
excedrin can only do so much
and I think my toler...

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Grief casts complex shadows
over the wilting body
You feel the fingers grasping
as sirens rise again
This fatalistic ritual
an energy made negative
and stomach knotted up
by such unhelpful thoughts

Pain rips at your sails
thunderous and wild
is it the body breaking down
a message poorly translated
The shrieking of absence
cuts deep into the gut
those hands twist and grip
the cycle...

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