30-3-10

Insides, insides, colliding
but not quite combining
to fight together but to
fight one another, forces
me to my knees, my feet
are facing upward, I’m
sliding down and I can’t
move a muscle – swat a fly,
whimper or even scratch
that itch on my face, I
am sliding so quickly now,
the dirt is shooting up my
nostrils, luckily my mouth
is stapled closed, it was
always stapled closed,
maybe if I’d just torn them
quick, like a band-aid, I’d
still be above ground,
right now, so much shame,
so unclean, so worthless,
I can’t talk of it, think of it
without bleeding a little,
I can’t talk of it, think of it
with crying a little,
I don’t mind the bleeding,
it’s what I know I deserve,
but I really do hate to cry,
I don’t mind the bleeding,
it’s what I know I deserve,
but I really do hate the way
my eyes feel, the way my throat
swells, the way my head hurts,
the taste of my tears, the overwhelming
weakness, vulnerability
of when I cry.