I descend
(thump, slide, THUMP)
Into the hangman's noose
Of sleep
(Or is it a small death?)
Thirteen knots
Hold me fast
In the uneasy greasy confines
Of
The Other world.
I wave, I drown
But the marrow keeps me
suspended.
White hot scythes
Beat under the delicate
Grinning bone of my temple
The tattoo of my heart
is the metronome for
dreams...or are they nightmares?
I dream
of larvae, eyeless and covered
in newborn slime.
They wiggle their
Inexorable way
Behind my eyes
Transforming into something
Terrible and unknowable
Before bursting forth
Bloody and sanguine
From my tear ducts.
(Or could that just be tears?)
The noose is cut
And I drop from sleep.
Jarred back to this world.
Was it the nightmare
Or my rusty cry that forced me back?
I will never know.
Someone else's legs take me
To the mirror
(Best friend, foe, bitch)
What is cast back
Is so much, too much
That I cannot catch my breath
Around the shards of glass in my chest.
What would help?
Nothing.
The dark voice inside,
Anorexia, the Prime Directive
Does not want help.
So from the mirror I turn.
Everywhere there are nooses that I can
Fall into at a moment's notice
Thirteen knots
Somehow this comforts.
I cannot be helped.
I am so hungry it hurts.
No.
I am not hungry.
I am hunger
Itself.