unforgivable vignettes

 

 

 It is there

As rolling thunder in the background

my soul

like some kind of unraveling cyclone

bull-in-china-shop reckless

where my skin feels too tight

itchy, as the insect that skitters across your back in your sleep

only to awaken and not rest again

I feel it, in the places where the ruthlessness of the abuse

Is a scar that never diminishes, where I have become marred from the experience

But there’s no way to know that until I open my mouth.

It is the contamination, that pours through me, savage and hateful. 

impregnated with import, something irreversible stays

as pitch that stains mentality

I listen to them drone on

where they mistake my pause for awe

graphic carnal fantasies unfold in my mind

beyond the surface tension that binds me

there is a compulsion that seeks to infiltrate

conniving.

there is some aspect of self that is scratching at the wallpaper

Hacking at the database , vandalizing the text

corrupting the moment in the flaw

as if I am listening a bit too much

wondering if I am hearing things that are not there

sensing the unfairness of time as a space between many worlds

it has a texture that shapes us,

unique unto ourselves.

In a kind of expansive isolation that never tires

There is a loneliness that nothing can satiate

a rage that never subsides.

As if I am a bystander to the tumultuous waves eroding the origins of my identity. 

I think upon the places that made me like this.

As a series of unforgivable vignettes that cannot be unlived. 

as jealousy for a thing that cannot be obtained, only lost.