Poetry Thread #3

[Original Poster]

I'll open up with the poem I wrote for my friend who committed suicide. SB that fascists. Expectations come from shadows and claw my flesh from bone and tell me with fear of disappointment tenderizing every flaccid hope. Am I so fixated on the end I can’t appreciate the passage there? Worrisome knots bubbling up to boiling gobs of poisonous doubt rising to my skull and spilling out--I don’t want it broken! I don’t want it broken! So I refuse to touch it. It's got me trapped inside my head because I can’t stand the loss of it or even a hint of a threat. I get glimpses through it sometimes but today I need surgery to remove the screaming little bitch nibbling on the back of my spine. I need canons to launch an assault and break every wall that separates me from all of you. I need a parachute to send me safely from the space station where I sit paralyzed watching the world I want break apart and be replaced by the one that is. My brain wants like sewage waste and I want to give up so bad sometimes I can’t stand it. But I’m still stuck in that paradox that if I can kill my expectations I can finally have them all. And I’m still stuck between fear and love, and god I wish I wasn’t because then you would have known how loved you were. But you never did because we all hid it. For one day let me escape the race to build evidence on facebook that I’m happy and prop up cardboard cut-out smiles faster than the world can take them down and then maybe you’d know you weren’t alone because I feel alone sometimes, too. But we’re such proud fucking shits we cover up our soft spots and bury our hearts in bottles until we can’t hear them begging for each other.