the birds in my head, might be caught

on the street, 

only tire marks left- why is it that no longer i'm terrified of being 



i scare myself even more than i disgust

the outside turning in,

the others are within

and the whitenoise is insufferably 

loud - a laughtrack and applause.


unimaginable scenarious hilariously

average, turned by the mess, that is

yours truly


no more hot, wet, black or pain, 

just warm, damp, gray, 

a numb brain


its a film screen with the curtains drawn

and how do you get out 

without leaving it all?


how do I turn the birds inside out?

those dammned without responsiveness, 

are so very, very insufferably, irresponsibly


This poem is about: 


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