03-12-2015, 11:36 AM
Indefatigably I fret.
Inexorably I agonize.
I crawl and curl up,
worrying that one day my skin will grow too large for my bones and organs,
and that I will lie there.
Someone will mistake my epidermal catastrophe for a used bandage:
padding the scrapes they earned after discarding tricycles
with gauze covered in my adolescent acne.
For this I bleed my wrists of anxiety.
Desperately, I attempt to flee chronological progress,
trying to climb back into the womb.
I climb up the blue cord like a rope ladder,
and in exhaustion slip down into my periwinkle noose.
I create these tribulations,
and let them tread over my unwrinkled knuckles.
I wax my skull and use the hair to weave a crown covering my now bare scalp.
I am Macbeth’s portent, becoming grievous royalty, playing my own fool.
Inexorably I agonize.
I crawl and curl up,
worrying that one day my skin will grow too large for my bones and organs,
and that I will lie there.
Someone will mistake my epidermal catastrophe for a used bandage:
padding the scrapes they earned after discarding tricycles
with gauze covered in my adolescent acne.
For this I bleed my wrists of anxiety.
Desperately, I attempt to flee chronological progress,
trying to climb back into the womb.
I climb up the blue cord like a rope ladder,
and in exhaustion slip down into my periwinkle noose.
I create these tribulations,
and let them tread over my unwrinkled knuckles.
I wax my skull and use the hair to weave a crown covering my now bare scalp.
I am Macbeth’s portent, becoming grievous royalty, playing my own fool.