the mug is grey.

it is short and round.

contemporary almost.

I have not used it.

it sits buried on a shelf in the kitchen

and I fear the day someone touches it

like it is going to suddenly explode.

I am here for a wardrobe.

a set of cabinets that will help

me arrange my life

organize myself and belongings

finally, be free of the clutter on my floor

my mother's voice echoing

through the empty showcases

"Why didn't you tell me? I specifically asked you if anything had happened."

you are the kettle to my black pot.

my body is slowly shaking apart

the silence of the word, "what?"

whispered into a cellphone

listening ears all around

a star collapsing into itself

a black hole forming

she has no right.

she has no right.

each step is heavy

act normal.

make a joke.

laugh. make eye contact.

there are marks on my skin that have been uncovered

can you see the flesh? the bones, the puss-filled maggots

can you smell it now?

put your hand in my side, and know the real me.

there is a future I will never get the chance to have

buried in the back of a bathroom shelf organizer

and the concept of a headboard.

and that's the worst part of it now

-the want.

I want

for the first time in over twenty years I want

and I hate the wounded animal living in my skin

it's so needy.

it is not kind.

nobody wants that.

nobody.

I am so far from okay

I am standing on top of it

in a different plane of existence

looking at it

but unable to touch it.

have you ever wanted to die?

I wonder what it's like

to not feel,

but I remind myself

I've been there before,

and if I dont stop bleeding soon

I will have to see a doctor.

and they will open me up

look at my clockwork insides

the schematic instructions

for what a human should be set up

beside me on the table

and they will say,

yes, this ones broken.

they will poke and prod

and listen with a stethoscope.

my clockwork rhythm out of tune

skipping a beat,

"I am fine" I will say

"I have always been like this"

and I don't know if that's the sad part

that I know what unfixable means

or that I got so used to it,

I just assumed that's what music sounded like.

buy the largest bottle of whiskey you can afford

don't drink it.

take it out of the cupboard

then rebury it behind the potting soil.

take your sleeping medication as prescribed

fight it all night long

wake up in a fog so thick that you can't see your hands on the wheel of your car

wake up at work half way through your shift

push back the pain

push back the suffering

just five more hours

just three more days.

stare at the images that try to form behind your eyelids

and be consciously aware that

something is not right

something is wrong

the room is spinning

and the colors are too bright for the pitch black of night

there's an animal dying outside your window

but you don't live in that house anymore

and the only animals outside your windows now

are those squirrels that the neighbors keep feeding.

stare at the clock

four minutes have passed

close your eyes.

take a deep breath.

sleep.

there's something dying out there.

It is a yellow colored thing

green bile harsh in glinting light

it howls like a dog missing its home.

paces like a ocean trapped in a bucket

sloshing from side to side

waves cresting and collapsing back into themselves -even as I sit still as stone.

It is the thrum of bees in my chest

a threat

the distant sound of silence before everything breaks loose

the hesitation before turning on a light in a dark room.

I remember reading about how ancient trees existed before fungi knew how to break them down.

Not that the fungi didn't exist

but that they did not know how.

That somehow they had not yet reached their potential as the true ferryman of the natural world.

That they did not realize the great beings they could fell

and reduce to dirt, to grow more giants.

That their part in the universe

was not something they were born into

but something they learned how to do.

I find comfort in this knowledge.

Knowing that I too, may yet grow into myself

and that my place in the universe is not set in stone.

I want to be a fierce toothed thing

with claws and venom

want to be able to tear apart those who have wronged me-

a fierce protector.

But I know in the quiet of the night,

I am merely a cornered dog

bearing my teeth in a puddle of my own piss.