TW: Implied self harm
i. dead night, hollow desk.
your lamp is a tacit limelight,
the paper in front of you is a death sentence in graphite, and you—
a
complacent paper puppeteer
strung
stung
slumped over artificial light and a dull
dull itch
ii. in your veins,
nausea, seasick, sickling
selfish 1AMs, yeses, i love yous and of courses.
retractable box cutter.
liquid
on the cold white tiles.
–
iii. top of the morning!
routines keep you grounded:
water
fruit (fresh)
eraser shavings
yesterday’s trash to the unused side of the table
iv. gratification?
easy.
eyes out
for the green light in every nook and cranny—
yes. excellent.
of course!
‘well written’, ‘brilliant’, ‘A*’ like morphine on a page.
v. back pain
past 3 PM – past the last ‘exit meeting’, the nausea oozes in,
air dense with molding dusk.
sedated
static
haunting
gnawing up your spine.
slow burn
wading through feverish quicksand,
the ceiling sinking into your wire sling neck—
and the twisted spine that runs beneath you, holding you to attention,
compelling you
to feel the emptiness, look it in the eye.
look at yourself.
vi. st. andrews
because you don’t dare ask for more.
shy
a euphemism for spineless.
dead fish eyes
chained to green lights: satisfaction of knowing the rules, even as the last summer that matters slips through your fingers.
vii. deadbeat wire balladeer,
how you long to break.
like chalk,
like release,
till powder grates up your throat
ix. to unfurl,
like petals, soft, yielding,
to yearn for nothing keeping you standing,
to feel the searing, intoxicating emptiness of the wire’s leave
from your flesh, to walk on burning sand,
and dissolve when morning comes—
spineless, fearless
Senior year crept up silently, and graduation will soon. This piece is a collection of ruminations and little scenes so numbing that they become lasting states of mind: the light of the late night computer screen, the familiar neck ache, the papers and dust piling up. Is this really how the last years of highschool should be spent? Spineless – for being afraid to leave the toxic comfort zone you’ve created, being afraid to look for happiness outside routine validation and praise. Spineless – for killing your body over trivial years that span less than a fifth of your life. Or maybe, it’s not too late for the kind of spineless I’d like to be – unconfined by the rigid structures I’ve curled into, bent myself out of shape for. Maybe if we learn to let go, we’ll know how to be at peace after a long time.
Cover Photo Source: https://www.lensculture.com/projects/1061076-synthetic-isolation