talking to myself

i will break a pool stick in half, then start to beat myself with it in front of you and your friends, who are drinking 40's on the cement stoop.

screaming at the top of lungs between the whooshes and smacks of the swings and impacts.

"AM I MAKING ANY FUCKING SENSE NOW?

HOW ABOUT NOW?

OR NOW?"

painting bruises on my body, just to make you upset.

just to convince you of something i'm not even sure of.
 
the sun will rise in a couple of hours, and tomorrow will become today.

i can't answer your question honestly with a yes or no answer.

i don't know where to put next year
or the year after that.
or the year after that
or the year after that.

i don't know where to put the soil, wildflowers, worms, and multicolored leaves.

i don't know where to put all the unfinished projects, and ideas.

i don't know where to put my daydreams of what i think would make me happy.

i don't know where to put my lack of trying.

i don't know where to put the guilt.

i don't know where to put the friends that i will lose,
or the friends i've already lost,
or the people i have forgotten
or pissed off
or hurt
or made upset.

i don't know where to put the bad parts of me.

i don't know where to put the tears i have shed and collected in a mason jar.

i don't know where to put the nervous breakdowns, and suicidal thoughts.

i don't know where to put my childhood toys— rubber lizards, a broken gameboy, pogs, legos, uno cards, board games, and marbles.

i don't know where to put my baby teeth
or the weight i'm losing.

i don't know where to put the songs that have been stuck in my head.

i don't know where to put all of the old letters from people who said, "i love you."
or the late night long distance phone calls.

i don't know where to put my heart if it is still beating.

i dont know where to put the unspoken words i will never say.

i don't know.

my closet and bedroom drawers are already filled from the last time i cleaned my room.

imagining yourself dissolving like sugar in a bath tub

alone, and isolated
in your bedroom.
on your knees
with your forehead
pressed against
the white drywall
listening for sounds
and noises coming
from something
or someone
that's alive.
staining that spot
yellow
with your sweat,
tears, apathy, and patience.
this is as close as you come
to prayer.
you want someone
to save you from
yourself.
you want to save
yourself from yourself,
but can't.
you listen,
and only hear
unspoken words mixed
with silence.
your computer and cellphone
died
a long time ago.