very much (alive)
i
haven't felt
dead
inside
for
a very
very
very
long
time
no
i haven't
not really
maybe sometimes
maybe after
an inner
whine
a cry
a stolen kiss
in the very nick of time
so quiet
my head has been
so quiet
the voices
the faceless
the baseless.bombshells
blonde
and blonder
blundering past
my neurophysical pain
the shame
that shame
so long ago
inflamed
by pain
preordained
from birth
to life
to loss
to love
not from inside
but
from above
i
digress
i
protest
i
no longer
taste
as if if were only
his only
victim
his only
toy
to trample
to sample
to sip
and snip
and rip
a part
piece
by
piece
by
piece
stretched
from flesh
to tatters
nothing i say
nothing i feel
nothing
nothing
nothing
that matters
ha
“shattered”
mum moaned
“shattered”
no?
not that anything
of her disco days
ever
really
mattered
i don't
product of the post area/tunnel/flaming fabulous festivus fllatterers fantastic
fantasy fortune-telling
yelling:
“breathe, bitch. breathe.”
no
is that any way to conceive?
“breathe”
no. such is not conception
but
realization
that one is the product of many
far too many
nihilistic death spirals
into the sadness
of doubt
the fury
of semi-importance
the loathing
of semi-fame
the fragrance
of failure
the inglorious indignation
of promise
fed fully
into loathsome
self
doubt
such rot
promise
betrayed by passion
petulance
endured
by gnawing
negativity
no
i refuse
to fall
back
into
the hole
the whole
she dug
she deeded
she drew
so
long
long
long
ago
i refuse
okay
i refuse
to confide
to myself
let
alone
another
that i
am
dead inside
no
i am very
very
very
very
much
alive
september 23, 2019
© 2019-2020 by ariana sexton-hughes
