At The Bottom

18/11/09
I think the frays are beginning to show,
I’m making more slip-ups than ever before
and I feel like they’re just waiting for me to
slip up, or worse, get up and dust off and walk on,
and live on, and find some kind of will.

But I’m at the bottom of this hole, pulling
my sheets up over my head and using a
rock as my pillow – I’m not really sleeping
just hiding from my life and living off the
sewerage of the only pipes that are this far under the earth,
and it tastes perfect and sends me into temporary madness,
at least it was temporary when I drank it in moderation,
Now I let it settle on my tongue and refresh me
probably a little more than I should, but in a hole this deep,
what else is there I can do?
My skin is caked in mud and blood that I can’t seem to wash off
however much it dares to rain upon me, I am surrounded,
sinking in a pool of wet mud and my own dried blood as it flakes
a little and merges with the blood before it slathers itself back
on my hands, my legs, my face,
my arms, my nails, my toes
cop it the worst just scrunching in it but never really drying,
If I had a mirror, I don’t think I would recognize myself, I can
even feel flecks of this rubbing against my pupils, and they walk
past but don’t even cast a glance ‘cause they know the monster
that lives down there and they just try their best to ignore it,
to pretend it doesn’t exist, but they try sort through the mess to find me,
not realizing they can’t have one without the other, and they’re hands
just can’t dig and just can’t reach deep enough.