It's not just me who hates myself

I can feel the cells in my body

try to escape.

My bones are slipping

in a mudslide, and my neurons are

firing in space.

I'm everywhere but

where I am,

I need some kind of plan

to figure out how to

integrate myself

into a single being

existing in a single place.

I'm drowning in my unshed tears.

I'm confused yet certain

Although I'm not the perfect person

I'll continue to lie to myself,

convince the darkness

that I'll pay the light bill.

The light is overrated

the idea of getting

to the end of the tunnel

is a little outdated

because the only end

is death.

My shame comes out in my sweat,

to my singular moments of comfort

I am in debt.

What I need the most is fleeting,

so I chase it looking for meaning,

never realizing that maybe

I can still be content

accepting the unknown.

the foolish man experiments

with the concept of eternity;

time matters not to someone

with a broken wristwatch,

and to someone who vows to live forever.

God, what's wrong with me?

God, I'm bored.

God, what the heck happened with my lunch?

God, I'm hungry...

God, wait, why's she coming towards me?

God, do I know her?

God, have I seen her somewhere?

God, she's standing right next to me now.

God, she's talking to me.

God, why's she saying this?

God, I don't think I'm that great, gosh.

God, I think she's exaggerating.

God, she asked me out.

God, she's complimenting me!

God, I liked that tea place we went to.

God, I think I kinda like her.

God, she asked me to be her soulmate.

God, I said yes.

--

--

--

God, what's up in Heaven?

God, I'm doing fine too.

God, I buried my sixth wife today.

God, can you hear me?

Because if you can't, God, then I must be going crazy.

Wouldn't it be wonderful

If life really was a fairytale?

And the bloodstains on my keyboard

Were only figments of my imagination?

______________________________________________________________

My keyboard really does have bloodstains.

How many posts does one need to have

In order to gain a splash of ink?

How many followers will you have

With only twenty posts on the screen?

How picky will most people be

Only choosing what is sad?

How many likes will friends always get

Just to make others mad

______________________________________________________________

I am horrible.

doctors,

OR,

talk of infection.

hurting,

excessive bleeding,

blurry reflections.

medical terms,

outcome unconfirmed,

averted eyes

making us squirm.

scars inflamed;

she's ashamed

of the wounds,

dark circles

appearing bruised.

i tell myself god's to blame.

she will never be the same.

damage's too severe.

nothing left to do here,

but sit and wait for the surgery;

wait for white coated

so-called profiteers

with hands stained burgundy.

i'm lying to myself.

i call it a case of perjury.

is it possible it's cancer?

"no need to jump to conclusions."

that's not a good enough answer.

"the good news is there's no occlusion."

your explanations are plodding,

you're stalling

with handshakes

and assertive nodding.

screw you,

and your desire

to play god.