May 01


The pressure in my head
keeps reminding me you’re dead.
The build up pushing my skull
my eyes bulging
from the ripping away of memories.
Everything is spinning on a dull carousel
I’m the broken seat belt
you’re the child who falls off
blood to tears
tears to scabs
if I could pick you off
one more time I would.
The noises are piling up
hitching rides on my thoughts
this is the pre-explosion
muscles are linguini now
falling onto themselves
I use my hands to hold up my neck.
The day you died my mind
played pinball with your body
today I feel that relentless bouncing again
my forehead is getting tighter
shakey hands reaching for relief
trephination motivated by desperation.
You’re dead in my head
I’m your coffin.
You’re my ghost.
This pressure keeps coming
haunting me till the day I join you by the grave.