169
to depression, to despair
the end of hope
unacceptable, this is unacceptable
to scream and cry
body wrung out exhausted
from failure, your failure
169.
my commodities are rotten shelving
beat up and bloodied, alone in a sick twisted perversion of
riot girrrl feminism
believing and dying and two sided coins,
squeezing the flesh on my arms into red peaks
169.
were we committed, clearly these problems
would find purchase in some other town or tier,
worming into my ears and my brains, or from my brains?
Can you make yourself crazy?
169.
it’s here to decide the fate of your mental threat(health)
drugs and pills and therapy and knives
liposuction’s on sale this year,
where feet grow out of faces’ holes plugged with fat from
your abdomen,
169.
relentless and wild there is no hope of escape
from issues haunting each step I take,
it’s not anything you kill or create
but a redheaded stepchild society hates,
169.
prose and poetry and fucking shit sprayed into bathroom
stalls
do nothing to address the goddamn weight
pressing down on my head,
heavy enough to crush my lungs with the small vacation of
one deep breath,
169.
to lie to yourself is supposed to be the lowest form of
expression,
reality, my friends, is the key to changing our thinking –
yes, we must accept things as they are,
lest we discover reality is only your own brain fucking with
you.
169.
