lies in the headspace

 I don't recommend reading this.  I'm not being facetious.  It's under two slides of trigger warnings for a reason.  I don't really think this should exist, and the likelihood that I'm going to delete it is pretty damn good.

Update: Well. When I wrote this piece, I initially psyched myself to post, and ran away. I fully expected that I'd come back in a few hours and indeed delete out of pure angst and self-consciousness. I did not expect to have it resonate with so many people. And I most definitely did not expect for it to facilitate a few very real and much needed conversations. Thank you, every single one of you that even read this piece. It means more than I can say ❤ And no, I am not deleting. 

•non-lucid dream•

 •non-lucid dream•

i need to stop dreaming about you
i don't know if this is a poem or a spell
but i'm setting my intentions regardless
i'll throw some herbs and stones at it
covering my bases, all for good measure?
i need a solution, a resolution,
i need to be f i n i s h e d 
i keep cauterizing these broken connections
but they just won't stop bleeding
and the constant irritation of anticipation,
this ever-present sense of waiting
it's more tension than i can house
a little more stress to top up the tank
and whoops, here we are, overflowing again
can i set fire to this spreading puddle?
the smell is wrong, but it's pink like gasoline
is that enough? it ought to be enough
i need to stop dreaming about you
and i'm telling you, i'm telling the Universe
that this, here, is my breaking point
i can't afford to cover your rent on my emotions
the fees are too much, and it's way past time
for you, to get the fuck out of my head

•connections•

I live in Ohio.  Yesterday I saw first hand how mass hysteria functions...during a simple grocery trip.  And then watched my neighbors have a huge party as their interpretation of social distancing. 
I ruminated on both of these things, and this is what came out.

things we don't talk about

bruises

"poking bruises isn't self harm",
I tell myself
as I continue
to press press press
on the tender spots

the aftertaste is odd

                    emotion measured
                    like exotic ingredients
                    in a long lost recipe
                    on how to be
                    socially acceptable

okay.

Y'ever have one of those days/weeks/lifetimes when you are feeling so stressed and overwhelmed and alone that it kind of plateaus into some sort of bizarre false zen and everything is just seriously really FINE?  Yeah.  About that.