4.25.06

Sometimes
someone speaks to you
and speaking, speaking
all you can think is shut up, shut up!
too dark to see,
but I'm writing, I'm writing
I'm thinking
about the itch of healing wounds
contracted while fucking up things
you should have learned a decade ago-
the only things worth feeling,
the only things worth seeing
the vital bit of you
that's still alive:
muscle and blood
beneath picked scabs.

I'm thinking, shut up!
I'm losing
the truth that I've been searching the bottom of bottles for
for god knows how long.