Incarceration, Incalls, & Irreparable Injections

hot against my temple.

a wish,

a fantasy,

an eternal escape.

but it is my weakness,

my cowardice,

my failure,

that has kept it ice cold. 

ice, running through my veins, 

ice, screaming to my trembling hand,

“JUST DO IT”

my mind.

my mind, it fights. 

it fights as it swirls in darkness.

as it swirls in the cold,

as it swirls within my fantasy of nothing,

of a forever sleep, 

of not waking up,

a fantasy without sleep, without waking, without nothing at all. 

My mind, fixated on the warmth of disappearing, 

but my hand,

my trembling hand,

it will not, 

it can not, listen.

frozen, 

“Until your stuck, lookin in the mirror like I can’t believe what I’ve become, swore I was gonna be someone, and growing up everyone always does. 

we sell our dreams and our potential to escape

through that buzz

I've also had nothing: right down to Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles, lucky if I could find someone willing to share their tent on the sidewalk with me at night, succumbing to sleeping on the curb- atop a cardboard box, peeling the roaches from my sweat-soaked skin when I woke, sticky with muggy morning sun, letting it run into the dirty folds of my flesh, staining me...staining me with the sickening memory that I would rather forget.

This life has lead me to follow the roots of my deepest, bloodiest inflictions into great, horrible depths...even into the very gates of Hell itself.....only to be reminded that the ground beneath me will only stop falling if I can stop digging...

But, it has become somehow familiar. Yet each time I trail deeper, further into the abyss below me, it seems more sudden than the last, and each time I am left with unexpected, irrevocable regret.

Regretfully and painfully aware, I sink into the blackened shadows that lay amidst the rest of the world, unseen by the hustle, bustle, cluelessness of everyday life. Yes, the blackened shadows have become my home, my comfort. The hustling, bustling, BLINDNESS of everyday life can not find me here, they can not see me. In the blackened shadows of the underworld, I am safe from their evil eyes. I do not belong, not amongst the living, I do not belong amongst the blind. 

But me,

I see. I have seen. I cannot stop, seeing. 

Even through the blackness that surrounds me.

Even as I fall repeatedly-to the bottoms that get lower each time, the bottoms I thought impossible to reach, at least not alive. 

Even as life as I once knew disintegrates more and more around me, sucking my emotions, my hopes, my dreams, my successes down into the nothing I have let myself succumb to. 

And yet, somehow, clarity will not leave me.

My sight, my acceptance, my super-alert awareness will not leave me, it will not fail me. The one thing I have left, my sight. 

Something I wrote here in C-9.

Sometimes in this place I feel like time is standing still. If you let your mind wander, which is dangerous territory as it is, you will find the clock playing tricks on you. Making sneering, mocking faces at you from across the room as you beg, willing it's hands to please, just a little faster, please...

But they won't move faster. In fact, if anything, they seem to slow, an impossible crawl that makes every tiny tick seem thunderously loud, defening. The time between each tiny movement seems to stretch, miles, years before the next, but you hold on eagerly, begging, willing it's hands...