Drip

© Lyric Doe

I fixate.
On things I cannot fix
mostly.
A blotchy figure
in watercolor hues
that drips down to earth,
stardust — 
ramshackle and incomplete,
forgotten
as the world sleeps
I creep.
In waters deceptively deep
mostly.
Amorphous figurine,
I break the lines
and drip down to levels,
molecular –
unseen and incomplete
forgotten
as the world sleeps.

I have the propensity to think my life is a lie sometimes.

Woven by a mind
that has severed ties
with verisimilitude
and breeds scar tissue
that dulls and fades
over time
only to rupture
at the slightest indignation
and ill gotten thought
as perception
of the creature I’ve become
blurs bends and breaks
and I realize my blood has run its course
in vain — 
I let out shaky breath
and the sweat drips down
from the tippy top
and I shake,
It’s off,
My head,
it aches.
I lose a day
maybe two.

Mostly.

Sometimes,
the words just run into each other.

IoT: Immolation of Thought.
So I feel the quake in my bones
instead
and toss and turn
undercover,
I am nothing
in this moment
but dripping subconscious thought
delusory
without repose
or rhyme
or reason.
Defective.
The word repeats itself
as if it were born from
the self-destructive will
I carried in my gut
churning,
relentless,
it bubbles bursts and breaks
down.

I am down today.

So I fixate
on things I cannot fix
mostly
and I creep
in waters deceptively deep
mostly
as I wait
for the night to drip down
mostly
so I can breathe
illusory and incomplete
forgotten
as the world sleeps.

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