Voices
The way this thing touches.
The way this thing licks.
The way that it whispers
and taps at my ribs.Look at the way the fire burns.
Watch the way the view dissolves.
Hear the stillness. ssh__________Take my pulse.
Am I still here?
Are my lips blue?
What about my fingertips?Has it started?
Has it finished?
Am I in the middle?Did I take them?
Did you rescue me?
Do you care that I'm gone?Oven mother.
Head in the Simpson.
Body prostrate on tongue and groove.
The world a dark enamel cave.Can you see?
Where did you go?
Where am I?
Where are you?
Where is the meaning of all this?where is your faith girl where is your faith boy?
Do I really want to do this?
If I take those pills
will they stick in my throat?
Will they make me sick?
What if I fail?
Will I be just another one of those
attempted for attention statistics?
What if they find me
and get mad. Or worse.
Get even.What about a rope?
Why not skip a generation?Little L izzie is in bed.
There is a man touching her head.
She thinks she's safe cos she is dead.
Little Lizzie is in bed.What kind of knot?
Will it burn?
Will my eyes pop?
Will it be slow?
Will I get brain damage?
Will I suffocate?
What if I change my mind?
Will I shit my pants?'bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang .
it's not my fault so let it go . . .'Where is the best point?
Through the temple
through the mouth
through the heart.
Think speak and love.
The things I failed.
What if I end up like that guy who blew his face off
and lived.On a hill, in the bedroom, in a garage, in the woods
who would find me
who would look?
What kind of rope?
What kind of knot?
What kind of pills?
What kind of gun?
What kind of wound?
How small a body bag?ssh ssh ssh
The way this thing touches.
The way this thing licks.
The way that it whispers
and taps at my ribs.
