Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart

Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart
Where is the line between creativity and madness?
Is it the line at the hospital, pharmacy,
farmed out diagnoses and uniqueness unseen?
Is it the line, the lines on the pages, scatter-herded
to sketches and verses inverse?

Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart,
and I’m coming apart as it swarm swells inside me
I’m shaking and searching for possible valves,
a vessel, a verily verbose machine
my fingers ten pens, my toes turning pages,
my mouth and my eyes twist tales regaling
the feelings, the thoughts, as my body
contorts in supporting the scene

Sometimes I feel like I’m coming apart,
there is still not enough and it itches inside me
ideas pushing out of my skin as I’m blinded
the need to release increases to a peak and
I’m weakened to breaking by things inside inspiring,
I pick up the pen as I pick up the pace and somewhere
I’m nowhere inside of this place where words
squirm-tear right through me and are born on the page

I am coming apart and I’m writing it down,
hands fingers can’t write nearly anywhere fast
and I’m missing huge chunks from the things I’m
told that won’t last, I’m sorry I am such
a body bound scribe, I’d change if you found other
viable options, but for now we are just describing
these visible visions, ascribed so to
one with such relivable limits

I am coming apart, though parts forever I was,
and I struggle to hold all these parts together, the
versions of me blur like light trails or loading, the
seeing and being not really in sync, the bodies, the
slices, the 4d possible courses, the corpses of past
wisping ghost clouds of future, looking through end
to end and fall into yourself

I am coming apart and when I’m closing my eyes,
I’m no longer a part but everything in one, no
thoughts here, no thoughts here, just being and being,
and been and becoming and but never was, every and no
thing sweet sides of the same, an ache emptiness beauty
creating different insane.

Sanus in/sano

Nothing can touch me,
yet everything does,
and I am exquisite better for it.

Nothing can hold me,
but now I ask people to,
world’s wondrous wonder of all.

Words blindshackle my mind from flight,
but I would sink without them,
it’s duality that fuels their power.

Opened my most painful truths for everyone’s inspection,
but here I am, and strong I stand,
more for each every one indeed.

I am the sanest insane person that you’ll ever meet.
Feel free to enjoy my paradoxes here
Because most certainly I do.

Wolf

It doesn’t start out
as a scream this time,
but builds from a slow scratching,
a low whine.
A wild animal waking up, pacing.
Moving frantic and bars clawed.

I lie on my bed,
and stare at the ceiling.
I feel it inside me
as animal breaks from its cage.
A wolf snarling bristle,
I’m agitated hopeless,
and I’m losing my mind
as I’m losing control.

I sit straight up in bed.
My wild wolf has made his way
to the very surface of me.
I feel him trying
to jump out of my chest,
every beat of my heart
a freedom attempt,
each slipping bit by bit
from already tentative control.
He’s going to take me.
He’s going to take it all.
I need to give him something, stall him,
because I am not quite yet ready to go.

I jerkily scramble
through my bedside drawer,
and I find my amiable blade,
amongst random bauble scraps.

I sit in bed
with my razor
and pain,
and my wild animal
barely restrained,
but restrained enough only
not to tear my own wholly
horrorbeast body to pieces.

I see only blood,
pouring rivers of blood.
and I see myself,
stretched arms impossible wide,
sliced from palm to shoulder,
wretched red from both sides.
I see the blood
from my flapping throat
gush down my body,
scarlet contrast starkly
with my brittle naked pale.

Then the walls start bleeding,
and the ceilings swooping in,
it is poisoned birds
and choking clouds
And I don’t know where
or what I am.

My mind has disengaged
as I scrape the blade down wrist.
Deep scratches,
Claw marks,
Again. Again. Again
My wolf falters final
and lets me breathe again
for now.