I Am Not Immortal

I carry the burdens of my mindless thrills of self-indulgence
with every footfall up these tricky steps.

I underestimated my mistakes.

Silent eyelid flashes,
invisible explosion pushing down the hostility in my limbs.
Battle siren piercing-pitched alarm,
singing on my nerves with steel fingernails playing the strings,
inflaming a sustained crescendo on my spine.
This chronic screaming.

Muscles pulsate unintentionally,
abrupt twitchy wave of contractions dancing beneath the skin.
Sudden spastic eye.
I will be blinded by the searing shock of a bad move.
Careful steps in the panic streets
(the friendly strangers of prime time news).
Stiff repose.
Motion restricted by my glass neck.

(There’s a silent war killing off the hearts of these magnificent fools.
My pain sings their death song in my ear,
humming through my skin,
a violent electric kiss on the father snake of my nerves,
burning me in the ice of this swarming indifference.)

A beacon,
a symbol of my poisonous actions –
eternal scars of my death battles,
hidden cleverly behind the skin,
carved into my bones in the blink of a singular flash moment,
a swift misstep…

Weightless in the air,
the water rushes behind,
below pounding turmoil of white noise,
my howling joy,
the sudden penetration,
fluid womb –
the crunch.

I drift along the smooth rock,
polished rolling marble floor,
eyeless voice of terror flooding me.
Panic rewind…
the fluid womb,
satin cool,
falling gracefully through its embrace…
jolt of pain,
awake surfacing,
gasp for air…
blood…

Some things never heal.

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