My life is a bit of a broken record. A crappy love song. The highs are high and the lows, so low.
I wish I had a crank. Drive it into the ribs and vertebrae at the base of my neck and wind it 'til all the vast expanse of feeling was bound up into one.
I want to make a coagulate mass of the sea that engulfs me. I want to feel regular. Normal. Stable.
I want to purge the haunting of pain from my heart, my wrists, my eyes. I want to tear away the long, thing, exacting fingers that clutch at my neck, my throat, at muscle and sinew, choking me, keeping me from breathing.
I want to win a losing fight. I want out into another life. I want to dive out of myself and into the deep, the dark clotted mire. I want to lay back into rivers of peace, soft, like waters, inching up along my cheeks and mouth. I want to be saturated.
I want a guide. I want to feel every measure of strength ebb from my body. I want rest. I want sleep.
I want it out, so far out. I want to push it out. I want it expelled. I want it out.
