you're acting like
there's almost a ... a
polite way to do away
this, this darkness
swallowing us whole -
like if we don't acknowledge
that it's there then it's
really not there at all.

(they've given you anxiety
pills to scare the nightmares
flicking behind your open
eyelids - choked you out of
the hospital like a goddamn
toy that they were sick of.)

but, really, i'm in the need for
some medication - a doctor's note
to scribble me out of this fucked
feeling, this wrongness twisting me
inside out from the outside in be-
cause my a.d.d.'s on crossfire. i can't
sit still, form the answer out of the
playdough knotting itself into balls
between my fingers;

i always have to move, keep running
from you or me, (the line is so blurred now
i don't fucking know what side used to be mine)
until i don't want to throw up anymore and
my shins aren't the only bones that are broken.

.

.

.

if i blink, you'll be gone.
but, oh, god, i'm so fucking tired of keeping my eyes
open.