Burning Numb

He looked up in the last moment, and saw the giant concrete slab begin to topple toward him; slowly in its speed he felt the slab strike outstretched hands of his, momentum first no weight not yet causing first his arms to bend, the slab now pressing twisting forearms before the weight sinks in, driving him onto his back; one last sacred breath before the weight pins him to the ground, and in that sacred moment does he see immensity, becoming one with concrete so to speak, before the ground kicks in underneath him, patently refusing to getoutatheway; he looked up in that last moment, and saw the giant concrete slab begin to topple toward him.

Blame Missile

Tonight I felt a screaming pang of guilt because I stood up for myself and did as I felt I needed to do. It was as though acting within reason is no longer tolerable, as though some kind of hidden schedule needs to be followed without any chance for preparation. It was also as though because I had previously made grievous errors in judgment, now in order to resolve those errors I was being required to make further errors, and I saw myself spinning endlessly if I followed that path, and so I put an end to it (again), and once again, a pang of guilt came screaming across me; as though someone else’s feelings could somehow be a missile of blame, as though I couldn’t or shouldn’t allow myself to do anything that left me feeling at the very least, comfortable. All I wanted to do was get some rest, but I ended up too angry to move, too furious to sleep; I am not yet in control of my programs, my emotions still yet rule me even if they never escape the four walls of my skin. My defenses are low, I feel physically exhausted and emotionally spent, and of course, the onslaught of reality never stops, really. I gotta figure this out, come to peace with myself, I gotta stop fighting fire with fire and blame with blame, and allow myself to take responsibility for feeling good; as the lyric goes, “I’m okay when everything is not okay.”

Tonight I came this close to severance. Some day I’ll have courage enough to try to make sense when I talk about my feelings. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a couple of minutes.

Clean

why does she clean herself
so frequently so thoroughly
working so intently, preening so carefully?
there’s little or no dirt there
her ministrations have little impact

why does he scratch himself
so roughly so fiercely
biting so hard, straining so long?
I looked and there wasn’t anything there
he was probably doing more harm than good

why do I reveal myself
so freely, so fully?
trusting so deeply, opening so wide?
was I vain enough to think it made a difference?
was I proud enough to think there was value in it?

Do I do this
because I am a creature of instinct,
or to prove that I am not?

And will I ever be clean?