Playback Spiral

5/15/24

Gift me another spiral
to the notches in my torso.
Help me flatten miserably
into a version of myself
that can pretend to be
loved. Tell the world
I’m halfway gone,
and mean it, too.

Enough with the tender,
enough with the condolence —
enough pain, enough scrape,
enough entrails left agape —
just breathe in the poison
and tell yourself it’s fresh air.

Close a window, and blind,
then your eyes, and stare
into the red of your mind —
tell yourself it gets better
in time, but nothing's fair
among a lover’s vendetta —
‘for pairs of hope, no, cope
can only unwind, no, rewind
in the playback spiral
of your mind.