I have done things
To myself
So slow and incremental
That it could not be noticed

The path was
Uneventful
Not much drama
Or neurosis

The dulling
Of the faculties
The tightening
Of the lung

The salt
That swells
The eyeballs
When the funeral
Song
Gets
Sung.

writing and scribbling and scrawling down my all thoughts,
each and every
dark and sinister alley twisting in the curves and
    crevices
of my mind.
dusty, hidden corners filled with filth -
hidden by the shadows of my
    weighted self.

And I remember thinking—
I wish someone would look at me that way.
As if they had battled it for a lifetime,
Through seasons and snow and sun -
Across cities and oceans and mountains
In innocent youth and wearied age,
As if they had finally surrendered and had no choice but to look.

In the way it takes all a person’s will and strength to look away
And they have been worn down, beaten, bruised
To the point of weakness, of giving up.
And now, all they are left with is their truest self, exposed down to the bone
& no strength to battle the inevitable
Draw of their eyes to mine.

I want someone to look at me as if I am their lifeline,
And their death-bringer.

Morning mildew
Soaks my toes
Susseration
          cloaks the fields
We smile
Giddy on memories
From the night before.