i can't think

I can’t think unless the cement will claw at the vines

And the ground will swallow every drop of sweat I’ve ever cried

I can’t think unless the flames will lick up every scratch I’ve inflicted

The augmentation of my fingers in the filtered streetlight

Every romping ghost in the shell of my skull that gives them voice

I can’t think

I can’t think unless the shards of obsidian will slice the veil of grief I bear

And the slimy film over my eyes is peeled

I can’t bear to think unless the scales of brick cling to the sticky flesh on which they were applied

And the organ is slit from key to pipe end and all air is swallowed

I can’t think unless the bugs that crawl over my corpse are exhumed by the vacuum that leaves me gasping and writhing and wet in my despair

I can’t think unless rods in my mattress impale my stomach and release the worms that have made my pain their home

And the gravel is ground and freshly baked into a pie of sweet forgiveness

I can’t think

I can’t think unless the creases on my face are scoured of every weed every ant and blister

I can’t think unless the whirring void is maternal in its crying for my return

And the butterflies that kiss my abdomen don’t want me dead

The wires strung above my head are pulsating with energy and calling me every hateful name to ever be written

I can’t think unless

Unless I can

Without sobbing and flailing in the agony that is thought

And the overwhelming desire to die is diminished

Until then

I can’t think