Verse About It

...my future fades out into dopamine
explosions of postpartum repentance -
& I renew my same old same sentence
that wraps me round like invisible bars.
It's all very well looking at the stars
if you feel you enough to go outside,
but I am not me, I am less than me,
I am in hiding, like I always hide -
I am in seeking, speaking quiet in tongues
about the silent screams that fill my lungs
so I can't breathe, in or out, or receive
the least ounce of love in my loneliness.
I am set a part, parted into parts -
with little pinpricks of pain, little darts
that dance around my head like little claws -
I am always at the brink of the jaws
of death, a million little deaths,
a pleasurepaindrug, always in demand
& always answered by supplies for the demand -
& nobody to ALWAYS hold my hand(s).
This is a life-in-death, but so subtly
that you wouldn't know just to look at me -
a snapshot of a timeline stretched so taut
that is means nothing but the march of thought
from A to B to C & back again,
parading before me, the teacher's cane
repeating its incisions on my skin
until the lesson has sunk in & in -
but still it comes & goes like the washings of clothes,
a cycle like any other - round, round,
like life & death and burial & birth -
no sooner have I crawled out from the earth
than I am thrown into my grave again,
married to my own hands & my own pain,
walking the same route round into the drain,
a prisoner in a malfunctioned brain.