Captain's log 20 x 54

Just letting go of some things

God damn, I don't get it-
I've got a "split head" aesthetic,
compulsively repulsive to my own
line of credit-
attached & relapsed,
my anxiety is embedded
I've felt it, can't help it,
this is all paranthetic.

I cannot quite explain
the subtlety in pain or the
comfort I seem to find
in a belt for my brain,
but I've knelt before this altar
once or twice, and darling
I know you've just been playing nice;
I'm brushing my teeth twice
in an attempt to lyse your
summer shoulders off my tongue-
what the f**k happened to being young?

There is no place for haste
anymore than there was before
kicking open this door
but it's a chore to ignore myself,
I just want to put my Id on
a shelf and slip away-
God damn I want to feel okay

Each day I seem to choose
to abuse an opportunity,
call it genetics or ethics but
my alleles do not appeal to me,
it's deoxyribose lunacy.

Whether this matters or not
is a long shot-
I keep my memories stocked
under lock & key
in body pillows and 3 AMs,
complicated kisses and rum
stained weekends,

my blood is thick
with aspartame riches,
I am the one who leaves his
dirty dishes in the back seat
where no one will find them
until the deliquesce to dust,
just like my grandfather
sating my
bloodlust for
metaphor.

And there is no more place for
haste than there was before
I tripped over my words
through your bedroom door,
but it's a war to ignore myself-
I just want to hang my guts
on a shelf and walk away-
God damn I want to be okay

Each day I seem to choose
to lose an opportunity,
apologetic phonetics are all too
real for me,
it's a vocabulary eulogy.

Whatever message I'm stressin'
at this point I don't know-
verbal regression
an ocean of vowels
that feel alone-
I want to drink you in slow
until I turn to stone,
chisel my marble lies down
with your enameled bone-

whoops there I go again, sifting through my pounding head;
no end in sight,
and my lips have been mislead

my Kira's dead but in dreams
she grants lucidity
while grandma is losing her home
no thanks to her degree

my father tells me he's worried
I am an alcoholic-
seven years on we all know
that momma's cancer's chronic

my motivation is rock bottom if we're being honest,
but I've got it

I get it.