i feel him on my nerves my fucking last nerve.
He’s tap dancing on it
the points of the god damn shoes cutting into the tendrils
the spindles coming undone as he shifts his weight
balance shaky as he stands on the tight rope of my spinal cord, on my last frayed frozen nerve
because his footsteps clack against my vertebrae
forcing out a song of bones and electricity that I was not yet meant to feel.
But I do
and with each
he cracks the dura matter breaking his way deeper into my psyche,
my secrets no longer mine,
my words turned to mush.
He's a brand new virus
my fucking own personal meningitis
he seeps up the capillaries along the column that fights to keep my upright
he's moving from inside to out covering every inch of me,
all inflamed all on fire.
And it means nothing.
I suffer from a painful encephalopathy
caused by a too big tap dancer with pointy shoes
doing the jitterbug on my one healthy nerve
and he lets it unravel under his feet,
paying little mind to that fact that when my wires snap in half,
their reinforcements giving way,
the dams flooding the city,
gravity will not be kind to him.