Doesn’t Bother Me

It’s happening again.

I can feel my eyeballs

In their sockets. 

My skin is too tight.

My hands contort themselves

As I try to give my bones

More room.

But it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I’m cold,

And I shake.

I’m warmer,

I still shake.

It doesn’t bother me anymore.

Whispering

He assures me,

That surely

He will shield me

From the shrieks

And screams coming from

Between my ears.

That self-destructive voice

Barks at him to

Leave me alone.

The look in his eyes breaks

Open the flood gates in my own.

But it doesn’t bother me anymore.

The dam is broken I

want to die I want to die I want to die

plays on a loop

behind my eyes

like nails on a chalkboard I

drag my own

and stain my arms and legs red

and he’s trying I think

a muffled voice

as if he’s speaking into a pillow

and I’m on the moon

waiting for a moment

of stillness

like driving under a bridge

in the pouring rain

but the road is open

and the drops hit the

windshield like a barrage of

bullets and I pray

for a stray to go

through my skull

It doesn’t.

I writhe.

But it doesn’t bother me anymore.