my bodys an anomaly and my mind equally defiant
i stare at myself
my pale skin that clings to my ribs
revealing the lump on the right side of my chest
the knuckles protruding from the center of my breast
am i anorexic skinny or bulemic skinny
neither of which i am. im skinny
in the medicated, self destructive-loathing kinda way
skinny in the way that only a fake boy or modern girl would be
i subsist on caffeine nicotine and benzodiazepines
my legal uppers and legal downers
my legal highs and legal lows
my mood stabilizers are doing a shoddy job lately.
so ill drive and turn led zepellin up well past the recommended 80 decibels
and ill allow that to fill my head
rather than the thoughts--the weight
the weight of my thoughts which are no more profound than any before me
than anyone elses
and all of it means nothing to me.
the comparisons.
people creep into my head. people i dont know
and never will. or care to.
but i think about them intimately nonetheless.
the man in value village who quite obviously is one of the more "successfully medicated" mental patients who works there from time to time
he sweeps the same aisle for the entire half hour im there
with the same psyhostabilizing drugged glaze over his eyes
his slack chin
his face showing no look of acknowledgement
only apathy.
the whole fucking world could explode and hed continue his sweeping
cleaning up the imaginary mess
survival of the fucking fittest, right?
then theres the lady in carrs
the eternal optimist
the one that makes me want to jump for joy only because shes so happy to be alive
and im not.
a cops pulled out in front of me
how long have i been writing
how long have i been driving 90 mph
i know im almost home, that means a good 35 miles
how did i not notice the road is icy
why are my hands pulling me towards the guardrail
and my brain holding me back
wheres my will to live or was i even born with one.
my pale skin that clings to my ribs
revealing the lump on the right side of my chest
the knuckles protruding from the center of my breast
am i anorexic skinny or bulemic skinny
neither of which i am. im skinny
in the medicated, self destructive-loathing kinda way
skinny in the way that only a fake boy or modern girl would be
i subsist on caffeine nicotine and benzodiazepines
my legal uppers and legal downers
my legal highs and legal lows
my mood stabilizers are doing a shoddy job lately.
so ill drive and turn led zepellin up well past the recommended 80 decibels
and ill allow that to fill my head
rather than the thoughts--the weight
the weight of my thoughts which are no more profound than any before me
than anyone elses
and all of it means nothing to me.
the comparisons.
people creep into my head. people i dont know
and never will. or care to.
but i think about them intimately nonetheless.
the man in value village who quite obviously is one of the more "successfully medicated" mental patients who works there from time to time
he sweeps the same aisle for the entire half hour im there
with the same psyhostabilizing drugged glaze over his eyes
his slack chin
his face showing no look of acknowledgement
only apathy.
the whole fucking world could explode and hed continue his sweeping
cleaning up the imaginary mess
survival of the fucking fittest, right?
then theres the lady in carrs
the eternal optimist
the one that makes me want to jump for joy only because shes so happy to be alive
and im not.
a cops pulled out in front of me
how long have i been writing
how long have i been driving 90 mph
i know im almost home, that means a good 35 miles
how did i not notice the road is icy
why are my hands pulling me towards the guardrail
and my brain holding me back
wheres my will to live or was i even born with one.