Inside Out (Under/Over)

Interior Shot:

some white kid screaming,
blood dripping like candle wax, beaming like solar flares,
walls turning to centipedes, congealing, TV screen purple 
like staccato breathing – separate from reality – and i’m screaming,

and i’m alone again, alone again,
saying hello to old demons again,
climbing picket fences past my interior defenses again;

no man’s land,
no hand to grasp,
no oxygen or nicotine,
no sleep,
no inhaling gasp;

just an eternal exhale;

forever is a
wall-sized locust with bleeding eye sockets and foam at the mouth;

i’m screaming but there’s no sound,
and the sinister solipsistic corner of the diagram secretes
cyanide and forgotten sins into my synapses,
synergistic with black energy as time becomes a bitter energy drink synonymous with a prolapsed lung,

and everything makes sense again
in all the wrong ways;

go away go away go away

i don’t need line breaks or rhymes or time signatures or contradictory statements i’m here i’m bleeding i’m screaming car tires screeching in a non-existent distant parking lot and i’m smoking till i can’t see straight drinking till i can’t think straight silent till i can’t breathe anymore.

Exterior shot:

a man smoke’s alone,
writing nonsense.

Willie Watt


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