Chugged Zephyrhills
in place of vodka.
Less brain cells suffer that way.
Now I'm here every hour
on the hour.
Emptying myself
of the water I've stored
I sit.
And in the time it takes to pee
I've propped open my mouth
and escaped myself.
Clips of this weekend
slashing their way
like paper-shreddddded pieces
across my mind
--fatherbrothermothermascara-stuffednailstriphopbingeone.long.silent.film.--
It's a black-blanket cocoon with
square of light pushing through,
like a laptop screen
in a dark room
tiptapping on the keys
so your roommate
doesn't wake
and bitch you out.
you can't expect people to save you
our chests aren't big enough to bear the "S"
...or the Cross.
Three sheets of Charmin
(my mother's OCD taught me well)
quick wipe
("from front to back!")
and i can blink again.
scrubbing between my nails
with her eucalyptus soap
i wonder
if the next trip
to the bathroom
will be as heavy.
