I think my meds are freaking out on me because I’m freaking out on my meds. I wrote this in-terrible-need-of-editing-or-preferably-burning poem and apparently can’t not record it somewhere before I delete it from my “functional” existence.
Like water that flows so naturally to that which always lets it down
In exchange for sick relief, wondering if it itself could drown.
Like fire that has no say
it slash-and-burns its world to ashes, leaving nothing to decay
Like the open-ended earth beneath its cataclysmic scars
Circumventing suffocation at the cost of gazing stars
And air breathed with dying recompense
Surviving at their own expense
