i wish i was a stronger person, but i'm not.

curled up
on the blue tile,
knees scrunched into my chest,
in front of the vent
blowing hot air
over the landscape of my body
onto the bathroom floor
illuminated by the blue light
from the tv
in the other room,
watching the reflections of
young actors pretending
to be amish kids
kissing each other,
and slamming liquor
in a cornfield
on educational tv.
i am searching for comfort.

eyes watering,
isolated,
ignoring the people
i love the most.
feels like
i am at the bottom of the ocean
watching aspca infomercials
wrapped in a blanket of sand
even though i'm allergic to cats and dogs.
i feel guilt.

day four,
and i'm contorting my body
into a particular position
to disappear.
and failing.

restless legs.

my left hand is
reaching towards the surface,
icicles sloping off
hangnails and cuticles,
growing cold,
begging for a xanax,
and/or a sub,
and/or a bag of heroin.

waiting for a savior.

nothing.

my right hand grips it
hard
causing fissures,
cracks,
and blisters,
pulling my head above the surface
for one last breath of oxygen
mixed with nicotine.

it's uncomfortable,
but there is no way out of this.
i can only save myself.

i drink shots of saltwater for nourishment, 
and hope for a better future.

i feel like squeaky fromme
trying to assassinate
president gerald ford
with an unloaded gun.

i broke my gps and threw it out the window

photo source

i drive
late night traffic
with my eyes close
smelling stale coffee
and burnt joints
on the breeze
whipped up
by my breath.

red eyes
heavy and tired,
trying
to make sense
of you
and the dark
storefronts
that are closed
until tomorrow
morning.

dreaming
with my hands
on the steering wheel,
turning left,
then right,
then right,
and left again.

i have a destination
to reach
even though
it seems
like i'm traveling
in circles.

i'm done
wasting miles,
passing real estate
up for sale
and empty driveways
illuminated by
yellow streetlights.

hypnotized by highbeams.
blurred.
in a daze.

there is a picture
of you showing
your teeth
in a green
floral patterned dress
wedged in between
the grey plastic
of the dashboard.

just sit tight,
i'll explain
everything
to you
real soon.

i'm on my way home.

yndi halda

i'm a fish
cold-blooded and small
wearing a pea coat
of slime and scales
swimming in a big gulp cup.
a melted blue slushie
tainted with stale cigarette butts
resting on a brick storefront ledge.
i don't extract oxygen
out of the thick syrupy fluid.
stirring the flakes of ash
with my translucent fins and tail,
i practice making out
with my piss and pellets of shit.
dreaming of the ocean.

a teenager wearing earmuff headphones
walks down the street
mouthing the lyrics of biggie smalls
and slaps the cup off the ledge.

the cup (my home)
is flattened by the bottoms of shoes.
blue liquid diluted with black and brown
spreads across the pavement
as bubbles form and flow
towards the storm drain
built into the street corner.

i don't make it.

instead,
i flail on the sidewalk
and enjoy eternal bliss.

trying to be attractive.

licking black dope snot off my upper lip,
and flashing yellow teeth and bloody gums.

yeah, i've never been in a long term relationship,
but you can marry me if you want
then chop me into pieces with a hatchet later.

i've got nothing better to do anyway.

opprotunities

i'm not looking to open doors, just slamming them shut with my free hand in the way, breaking fingers.

i will send you a picture.

hands looking like blue, purple, and green pieces of coral that are snapped, oozing blood.

you can put it on your desk at work.

or set it as the wallpaper on your phone.