how to be old an old lady old
how to die
Locution Fulfills Highroad
You, zombie jealous drifter, made-in-house, you, taker of dreams refused too at the time, losing self on lower emotions but you, little one, stealer of the throne, lying faculty of early learning curves. I mean he stole it all, and obviously wins, you hawker, you lumberjack, you sorceress, you highroad loophole autobahn made distant by belonging to, you cruel and evil heart, name covered over with veneer, a patent-leather loophole on the autobahn made distant, cruel heart.
thought deprives itself of feeling all of my gestures proved false
wake to pain-time between meds isn’t growing longer as planned-the pain’s so bad-waking nightmarish living dream take pain meds and wait-can’t compose a narrative of my life without it sounding like complaint-all the maneuvers to get through a day-reframe what you’re facing by not speaking it in words-a thought deprives itself of pure feeling-it longs to be identified with
first day off gapapentin-angry tirades on television sets turned on throughout the hospital crippled wheelchairs amputees hopeless television sets talk election results or some other fleeting news report on the way to yet another doctor-i, always polite, seemingly hopeful, sicken myself for what I’m turning into, being in this body, in this mind, standing in melodramatic landscapes
talking heads television set says need for pain meds something other than round the clock can i function at all today must lay down can’t lay down it hurts too much yes to life say they of positive attitudes so sick of the “they””their” neutral voice of knowing it all prescriptions for happy ever afters which never happen in the grave bugs eat after the “they” buries you there