Innately miscible

From my lashes fall a salty solution but never the solution to the trigger of my violent pollution.
Feeding the well within me with ammunition of self-pity.
My thoughts seeking through garbage dumps of my mishaps, picking up and hoarding silver bullets from my past.
Salt crystals building a fort below my cheeks, engulfing and cushioning me.
Releasing myself sob after sob, clothing myself, rather building a cocoon, rather stripping the cloak of mercy.
Tugging but really ripping a 2000 year old encryption from my make-up, exposing myself completely to the elements outside of Christ.
Grabbing to my chest, whimpering inviting the company of depression.
Inhaling the exhaled toxins of their whispers.
My lungs shocked by the new substance rejecting it but cleaving to it, adapting to it’s new environs. My body fighting against my body.
“Yess take it in…”, stealing the oxygen and transforming it.
Tipsy from the self- pity and a new found fogged clarity.
My stomach churning,
plunging itself into winding caverns,
tunneling itself into itself, excreting the grease oil of bile.
Harsh.
A volcanic like eruption spewing from my lips.
Nostrils vacuuming the scent of my regurgitated waste, amused.
The edges of my lips propping up my cheeks.
Reloading the barrel, tightening my grip on the shaft, the cyclic spin of the barrel simultaneously pumping bullets of dark smoke
altering my cerebrum, specs of flame distorting images, burning frowns into the smiles in my moving photographic past.
Agitated;
cuddled by the reverse psychology my body is subjected to.
My lids grasping for a companion from itself, crazy glued.
The film of reminiscence rolling over my retinas.
Pressing slow-mo at any moment that pours into my well releasing from the crevices, hot springs.
Disgusted but pleased I clutched to my stomach,
digging my nails into my epidermis feeling for the resistance of my dermis.
Deepening the ditch, greeting my external with my internal. My teeth grated against itself.
My body fighting against itself.
The roll tapes of pity ran out, leaving my tightened lids in blue blackness. Red polka dots splattering across the black back drop.
Empty.
Craving.
No longer pleased. My body growling requests.
More. The need gutting the insides of my bruised exterior.
Hollow.
Deprived.
Digging,
my skin cringing.
The salty drops burning the fresh bruises.
Forehead a ghost like blurred motions hitting against the wall. Increasing the frequency of impact, my body leaching drops of sedation defending itself against its new definition of pain.
Thirsty for thirst, hungry for hunger.
Filled by the emptiness and aroused by the pain.
The tension in my jaw line unbearable as my dry hydrated eyes opened. Seeing weapons.
In need of the orgasmic feel of pain.
Exhausted.
My lips proclaiming depression my body contorting to the lyrics.
A rhythmic seductive dance to the closest I could get, curling one finger ligament at a time around my neck pressing, pushing, forcing the ball in my throat to fill the gap it was never meant to.
Deep breathe, my last. Holding, squirming. My lungs screaming airlessly, diaphragm contracting. My lips sealed shut.
I was almost there.
But the cloak of mercy is woven into my skin. Stitched into my pores, dyed into each hair follicle, injected into each blood cell and flowing through my blood stream. Mercy was fed to me in my mother’s womb.

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