My skin hates me more 

than I hate myself. 

All of these sores form 

words that taunt me- 

it itches, it burns, it crawls,

I can not breathe, 

oh please, where is the air- 

I have to inhale through my 

pores, but they are blocked- 

I must pick and I must pull, 

But what if I do not? 

What if I explode? 

Is this mess really worth it? 

Am I really worth it? 

 

You say to just get better, 

is that not what I am doing? 

Doing, doing, doing- 

I do too much, not enough, 

what is enough- does it exist? 

Do I exist? Am I thinking too 

much for these words to 

actually be thoughts, 

and not just premature 

ashes and dead sparks? 

Am I willing to go ahead 

and burn myself up? 

Am I doing it just for 

others to see themselves 

in a better light?

 

I am racking up my electricity 

bill by merely being present- 

the city should just use my 

nerves instead of whatever 

the hell they currently are 

using to power the block, 

because I have enough 

misfires to light up downtown. 

 

Downtown- sometimes 

walking through my brain 

feels like walking through 

downtown Birmingham, 

except I’m not walking, 

I am running, I am screaming- 

Wait, now I am stopped- 

Why am I frozen? 

I am not frozen, my heart 

is beating way too fast 

for me to be paused- 

my muscles hurt, my jaw 

is clenched, my chest hurts- 

I am scared but I have never 

been scared of the dark before- 

the unknown never frightened 

me because I already had 

faces for all of my fears. 

 

Just dig my nails into my 

palms and take a deep breath, 

I have to ground myself. 

Take my brain off the 

plane it is crash-landing, 

shut down the party 

my head is throwing. 

My thoughts are all 

guests in a party where 

I am the main attraction. 

My heart is the music, 

the lub and the dub and 

I am the body thrashing 

from inside the trunk. 

Why get a DJ when you 

can get a panic attack to 

make all of the songs? 

Why take drugs when your 

blood knows how to scream 

off key all on its own?

 

I feel trapped in my mind- 

I can step out ever so often 

but my captor will not 

let me leave for good. 

I am playing chess with 

the Devil and he has got 

me always stuck in check- 

I am picking my poison at 

a gourmet restaurant, and 

I forgot my glasses at home. 

I can not see the menu- 

I will die surprised by 

something right in front of me. 

 

How do you scratch an 

itch on the inside your brain? 

How can you tell your

frontal lobe to just fu** off? 

How can you get your 

mind to sleep, without 

letting the nightmares inside? 

 

Letting yourself rest 

means closing your eyes. 

Closing your eyes means 

letting darkness come in. 

I am not afraid of darkness, 

I never have been. But I am 

afraid of relenting control-

 

Did I ever even have control 

of myself to begin with, though?