Infection

Every night, it comes to me…

in the wee hours where theres no stars.

worse when there are, stars.

like an infected blister on an nasty and

potentially gangrenous puncture wound,

as if from a knife, maybe the taste of a flail.

It oozes and itches and you have to fuck with it,

with pins and needles and tweezers and alcohol

til all the infection is ousted

and you wrap it up nice and go snuggle in bed feeling a-ok now,

but mostrly by morning it starts feeling like shit again

and you know come tonight, and maybe the next day if you can stand it,

youre gonna have to go poking it and whatnot again…

if it stopped being infected

i think the hole would be so big

that i wouldnt know what to do in place of the time where i used to fight it….

Im sure if it did though,

eventually id figure it out…

yeah, i really look forward to that day, but right now,

it doesnt seem very close.

its been years, and im still here, alcohol and tweezers in hand;

bring it on.

i think maybe i mentally masturbate with the pain.

Hurt myself intentionally.

But how could one be holding on for dear life if they are not even trying?

attatchment across such a time and distance and through so much thrashing and murdering…

that takes devotion. time. intent.

i havent got any of that.

and it isnt hope either, because i know for a fact that if it stopped itching and oozing,

i damn sure wouldnt go making another hole.

if it opened up its razor mouth and asked me,’ hey

how about you and i run away together and we can do this all the time?

you just stop fighting me and ill take over, and itll all be good… it will be different if im all that there is”

i would not go.

there will always be this memory of the fight for my soul.

not with a festering sore,

but with a specter,and the impostor whose body,

it walks in.

i think not even death, could remove this from me.

perhaps in time, but this, walking living conscious madness,

this silence, so goddamned loud…

Spattered with contacts and live wires,

rising out of the mists in the darkest valleys of my being only…

The true monster in the basement.

sneaking his spindly hand out from between the steps to caress my naked ankle,

to dig his icy finger into my chest, and try to infect,

what i have worked so long and hard to preserve.

Every day i fight a war with no name or reason.

It oppresses me as if there were a large man sitting on my chest,

trying to still my heart,

collapse my lungs,

make me tap out, and give in.

but i cannot. I am past the point of no return,

past the point of  dropping it all and going backwards for no reason

other than to further imprison and oppress myself, my future, my light…

it isnt just my light anymore,

and i could never dare replace the person i love into a darkness

that i know would be… an inferno.

and yet, i am tormented…..

there is no reason for this pain to still be.

and yet here it is.

again. and again. and again.

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