you know that feeling when you bloody disappear
inside all your layers
and you find the deepest one
and you carve out a coffin for yourself there?
Didn’t want to be in that car. Didn’t want
to hear that goddamn engine growl like their voices and didn’t want
to feel the jerkin’ of the wheels ‘cross the jagged pavement
like their hands dragging ‘cross my body,
Wanted to murder them, I did, murder them for real--
not exaggerating for dramatic purposes, like--
felt the rage explode out of me--
‘cept once the rage was gone, there was nothing left.
And it’s hollowness, you know?
No emotions. Didn’t feel nothin’ ‘cause I was hiding by then, see.
World got all cracked and fragmented and grey,
like one of those old chapels what pepper the highways
that leak outta London—the ones with the dead air
what chokes you when you try to breathe--
‘cept my whole vision was like that, and I
didn’t give half a damn ‘bout nothing.
Couldn’t give half a damn. Just couldn’t.
Call it goin’ away if you want, but it wasn’t, like.
Still here. Shell of me is, at least. Look at me. Look at me.
Can’t you see me? You can see me some,
like you can see what’s on the other side of a mirror,
if you squint real tight. Go on. Squint, dammit,
‘cause inside of my sealed coffin,
all tight with blood and stiff with disillusionment,
I’m still here, see.
Don’t worry ‘bout me.
I ain’t gone.