is it normal
to stand in my bathroom
for ten minutes
at 2:20 a.m.
pepper spray in hand
door locked
listening for footsteps
waiting for my breathing
to become less ragged
so i can run into my bedroom
check my closet
and under my bed
for monsters that only
come from my head?

is it normal to stare into the mirror
crying
wondering if that's really you in it
because you don't recognize
your own reflection
after checking behind
the shower curtain at least four times?
there's a reason i never want
to live alone.

is it normal that
even when i am alone
it fees like i am being watched
cameras, mirrors, windows of houses and people on the street.
they're waiting to laugh at me
or ****** me
or kidnap me
or stare at me
the list goes on.

everyone is out to get me
which i know isn't true
but that doesn't make
the feeling
go away.

So many lives in an essence of mind
the possibilities endless
there are so many of me
I don't know which one to give life to
I'm like a deer in the headlights
starring down my inevitable fate
how funny we should die together

my soul is in another dimension
these thoughts are floating in space,
fingertips frozen in place,
and my heart is encased in a steel cage;
my key has been thrown away.

i can't reach my reality
it hovers in front of me,
pleading to be caught.

it's too far to grasp.

        i'm afraid i'll never reach it.

The shockwave hits your throat
so fierce, it forces your own voice
from your own body.
The momentum it contains, unconstrained
by your silent spectre
rushes forward like thunder
into the levee of your knees, and strikes
the way lightning fells trees.
You're nothing but lymphnodes, flood
and weight, now.
The rest, like last night's dream
washing away the moment before you remember.
The aftershocks ripple like echoes,
capsaicin in the nerves
of all your timber limbs
dismantled and thrown to the horizon.
You hover above
what it felt like
to exist.
It rests on the tip of your tongue, a moment.
Nobody really knows the difference between
a moment and eternity.
Below the folds of water, sweat and skin
the ground is offering whispers
bubbling soggy underfoot.
They might be yours.
They say it comes from the ground up
Channels reaching channels to connect
in a flash
a crack
again
to body
even
if only
a moment.

A bridge broken from one side to another.
A telephone wire cut.
Something's wrong inside my head.
The thing is, I don't know just what.

Chirping alarms
Whirring fans
Smoky smells
Red. Blinking. Lights.

A robot whose been programmed wrong,
An exposed sparking wire.
The buttons don't click all the way.
Hazardous, watch for fire.

Danger
Danger
Danger
Do not approach

This automatic switch is supposed to make me excited
This one makes a genuine smile.
Nobody notices, though, that I'm on manual control
And have been for a while.

Overheating
Overworking
Overdoing
Over

Electricity and buttons and wires
Do not mix well with water, I think.
But because I'm in desperate need of repair
I'm in constant thirst for a drink.

"Should have bought that extended warranty."
"Did you turn it off and on again?"
No.
No. Because it's broken.

Hard drive shorting
Lights are blinking
And I'm thinking
My last thoughts exporting

Crackling
Clicking
Clattering
Clanking
Clunking

The only thing that works well anymore
Is the part that goes through the motions.
Perseverance is my constant notion
As I burn myself out on the shore.

It's hot to the touch.
Back off.
Soon, it might Explode