i was afraid i'd eat your brains.


a boy i used to know bought me this pen for no reason. you have to twist the green bottom of it fully around to use it. growing up i was taught to always say thank you, no matter what, and i do. there is a tinny metallic taste in my mouth, like silver or permanent marker or the aftermath of a poisonous gas raid. it suits the scenery and the writer. my grandmother gave me socks for christmas and pajama pants with "i heart boys" printed in glitter on the butt. they are very hideous and misleading but not completely inaccurate.
i am chewing sunflower seeds. i put the whole thing in my mouth, shell still on, and i suck and i chew it up and then i spit the whole thing out. i don't really give a fuck. this is how i do it.  i feel off. it must be the poisonous gas raid.


the truth is though that i have not been naked in a year. even with my clothes off and even in the shower.   i'm never naked, not really. i miss it. i miss it so bad.  taking everything off would take forever. a lifetime. that's all life is, probably,  a never-ending process of removing the layers. but i know i've been there before, uncovered, raw, flying. what i really miss is not just peeking over the cliffs of my brain but jumping right the fuck off them. i am not allowed to jump off the cliffs anymore.
 instead, its like this. bones with a headache, a coughing snow fall. i am now an eclipse. i hide what is me someplace not even i know how to get to. dead ends. stifled. my skin called, my lungs rang, oh ps, my hands were trying to reach you, my wrists called, my voice dialed your number, my thighs left a message. they said:  i can't breathe. they said, you can't see or touch or share my sadnesses and i am a dictionary of them. i mean, was. past tenses. now the pages are empty, empty but never naked and always hungry. never flawless or elegant. do with them what you please. i only vaguely remember. 


instead i clean things. i clean everything. i don't mind.
i don't sleep. my brain chatters like teeth. a constant far off cry in my head about things i used to love, breathlessly, with all the hands in my heart. i can remember hitting the gas hard to get there with my head. nude, naked, both hands on the wheel, thighs whispering to the leather seats, eyes closed. fuck it.
i am drifting off course, i lost the point. 
the point, these days i use up all my might, my vitality, to keep hidden anything cliff-like or too high-up in my head. no more air on bare skin or lessons on what comes after. gorgeous mid-air melancholies, lost, in dreams i am sucked out instead of in. you couldn't see so i couldn't show it, now i can't find anything. i can't see me anymore. 

instead i smoke a cigarette. i spit out a sunflower seed and pretend i'm in a movie.  please pass me a cigarette.  i was taught that no matter what to always say thank you. a song is playing loudly, he sings he was afraid he'd eat your brains. i light a match, "shhh" it says. thank you.

1 comment:

Len said...

love this, especially the last lines.