sometimes i wish that i dared
to stab my eyes with hot twin needles
(slice my irises with rusted razors),
rip my fingernails out,
one by one,
chew my lips off
in bloody strips of flesh...

as the walls begin to close on me
and the weather sloughs the dirt away
in torrents, in waves
freezes the tears to my cheeks
through several layers of glass and sheetrock.

but when all is stillness
that settles on top of me
and quiet nestles in my hair,
when the dust stops floating
through the thin beams
of late autumn sunlight...

i want to roll in the grass
outside my windows
breathe deep the chilled, clean air
into lungs already full to bursting
of stale, corrupted expiration,
leave my ghosts to haunt other grounds
(goulish figments of nightmares and horror)
and stretch like a lazy cat
with a feather in its mouth.