white picket fence

i think i busted my cerebellum.
somewhere between yesterday and blablabla.
is there an antidote to the discriminatory way you blink me away into oblivion?
how your cringe, inhalation-deep, makes impressions on the richter scale of
his tor y?

roseanne, you told me to scream out loud, at the top of my lungs all ladylike and polite from the top of the highest building and right down there in the subway too.
and i did.
and i did.
and i did.
some more...

but they STILL don't hear me.
claim i'm a 'low-talker'...
dismissing the sounds for mere drivel.

sometimes, i sing a high falsetto, lachrymose prayer into the great grey-blue-beyond of eternity and forever and the place outside the limits of what i can scientifically prove, justify and disclaim. there are usually tears.
they are sharp and hot at first, and then turn into a deluge.
a waterfall of blathering idiocy.

it makes no sense.
i cannot say for sure.
there are not words for this place in my center.

...filled with every last scrap of what it means to live & breathe & gratefully transcend a life not filled w/ the placebo bullshit of antidepressants.
there are caverns of melancholy i dare not revisit.
the plunge, so deep, black, and hollow; i fear a return to the surface.
as well as billowy cloud-burst heights.

piercing the center of this moment with the sharp pointy edge of a dart into no where
i bleed the epitaph of memory

i remember
i feel it
it permeates every pore
and tomorrow
a bruise will certainly stain the space where light & dark met life & heart

and so i busted my cerebellum somehow, along the way. it's just a broken record reality, so i hope you'll stay & play.


any
way.