Elora
ANYTHING-ANYTHING-ANYTHING BUT
did you turn off the stove? fuck, did i turn off the stove?
it’s too late to go back – you have to go back
i turned it off i know i – what if the apartment burns down?
no.
turn around, turn around, turn around, turn around, turn around – damn.
NOW
i know i know i know i should leave but
isolation is a lover i have acquired to crave –
its arms are so warm compared to those of others
and it won’t ask me any questions when i
smash my head into a pillow and scream
XYLOPHONES – RING! RING! – IN MY HEAD
sometimes i pretend that my hands are not hands but grass
and that their sweat is not sweat but leftover dew from the night before
and that my body is not my body but a star on the brink of ruin –
oh, to eliminate my flesh in a burst of light!
(it’s easier to romanticize this way)
INSIDE MY CHEST – WALLS COLLAPSE
there are rubber bands spiraled taut around my lungs
begging to be gripped and pulled and snapped –
but all they can manage to do is recoil tighter against my breath
(my fingers cannot crawl deep enough to tear them away)
so i settle for exhaustion
EATING ME WHOLE
nervous worms in my stomach wriggle and writhe,
forcing me to take knees at the toilet as if groveling at the foot of a monarch’s throne –
i wretch for relief until the taste of acid cannot be drowned by water
and when i’m done the only thought i can think is
“at least this way i may end up skinny”
TO THE POINT WHERE I CAN’T STOP
everything seems like everything but feels like nothing at the same time
3-3-3! soap, curtain, shampoo
3-3! shower, music, heartbeat
3! wrist, ankle, toes
(if you understand this, i am so sorry)
YELLING FROM WITHIN
p.s. the stove was not on.