i could be possessed,
or
i could be a person with a number of neurological disorders,
but
maybe i'm neither.
maybe i just am who i am.
bullshit.
hot then cold.
always restless.
my problems have no shape.
no outline.
no definition.
unable to explain
i stare up at the night sky
with my mouth open
to get a taste of the wind.
thinking about the atoms that bind me
together.
thinking dissolve.
scatter.
transform
or
disappear.
stop making sense.
screaming
stop
just fucking stop.
time is eating all of us alive.
i will control my end.
i will be eaten by birds with sharp beaks,
not by the passing seconds
measured with late night tv.
broken into basic elements.
not alone
not okay.
not happy.
not sad.
not excited.
not moving.
not conscious.
not thinking.
not functioning.
not whole.
not breathing.
not beating.
not anything.
take an eraser,
rub it across the wrinkles of your brain
that contain memories,
avoid the trauma,
and the cost for a casket/tombstone.
call it a funeral.
call it whatever you want.
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