it speaks of its own, it says don't remember, it says stab me with a knife and you will be able to see the fire at last, it says i own you.
i never remember what day is it. i only see stasis, stills of the cats sleeping. me in the chair drinking tea. hiking the dogs and trying to forget. sitting in the dark, always the dark.
i am not an addict but i ask for stronger drugs. i ask for vicodin. i ask for morphine. each one fails and no one has answers.
pain is subjective and they can't see so i will burn you until you want nothing but to be ash.
my head is a pincushion with ten thousand pins that the devil is rolling back and forth, back and forth, slicing at with an axe at his whim.
that's all. i don't own myself any more.
but louis armstrong makes me calm, and so do subways. so i know that much at least.
