unspeakable monologue

aprilwitching:

And I guess I’m not okay. Well,
I guess I’ve never been
okay. You know how it goes:
there’ve been days and years of almost.
I could pretend when the sun was on me.
There was never a time when I didn’t see
the sucking wound in everything, but, well, it’s like
blood, you know, is a shimmering thing–
sometimes you forget what it’s supposed to mean?
I could forget the smell of rust beneath the mirrorshine.
Then I forgot to forget, and that
might just be the real problem?
Sometimes that’s what I think.
I think I always was a picker of scabs. I think I was born
when I figured out that closing my eyes
wouldn’t annihilate horror, so I might as well look.
The horror would still be there no matter what.
And the roof of the world lifted off and I saw the future.
How can I explain it?
The future was just this emptiness. I say empty. I mean
it wasn’t there. I mean it was a hole I fell into.
I mean it was a hole that fell into me, devoured my liver.
I mean it was a crocodile. But it was nothing like a crocodile.
I mean, eater of lives. Imagine teeth. Imagine your teeth
falling out like stars through swollen meat. Now stop imagining.
This metaphor is meaningless. And I’m gonna blink now.
And there will be darkness and then painful light.
And there will be the slow disintegration.