I’m slipping

In the corner of my eye
a face in the window
lit up like the moon
winks with a grin
it speaks to me,
press the knife on your chest
and your heart on the blade.

And I don’t ask why.
but my hand moves without me.
and it takes the paring knife from the
drying rack.

And it feels so good
the steel on my skin
its edge pressing flush
on freckles, constellations
the former places I was once wounded
in a past life
and
the silver blade straight like my smile.
So my reflection shows
the glimmer in my eye
a hunger for destruction
parallel to one minute to midnight.

Let me cut this body
and peel back the skin
until I am sheer, one cell wide
a delicate lacework,
holy and demure.
Unlike reality.

Because I’m losing my sanity
to little white pills
crushed up buds
mass-produced pints of
intoxication
it tastes like barley
living.
In every object, there is
an inevitable entropy
including me
and I have to take it into my own hands.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s