163: a concept

i keep finding myself holding out an axe for you
crack open my skull
hack me quickly,
understand its discontent
just figure me out, already.
but what you really wanted was to pick my brain in peace;
to poke around the pieces and folds as you please.

perhaps i am hoping too much
with these pipe dreams bursting at the seams
my screams of consciousness incessantly leaking
thoughts and tears and fraughts and fears
—i must apologise
for believing you could save me if i struggle to keep afloat.
i should have learnt by now that we can't see neurons
sending distress signals with the naked eye;
that you can only hear
my palpitations and hyperventilation
if you would look at me
rather than through me.

i am not a concept.

20190719 7.56am




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i keep letting you
crack open my skull, pick my brain
but i've come to learn
that the naked eye can't see neurons
sending SOS smoke signals.

it boggles my mind how you have it in you
to muffle my screams of consciousness
every time,

so

should i break my ribs for you now?