It sometimes seems like there is a little man trapped inside of my head pounding to get out. When he is disappointed in me he causes a lot of mayhem in order to distract the sensibilities of my body. My brain is a cushion for these impacts. I rot inside. Often I'm left arguing with myself other something nobody said about anybody. I am inside of a recursive riddle with an elusive cadence that is never resolved. I find myself here in this body trapped like cattle in a slaughterhouse. I find time working away with tiny hacksaws at my joints and bones. My muscles broaden and then decay forever. I feel the tidal pull wash over me and dragged me beneath the ground with a ferocity and level of comfort that I could not fight valiantly. I could only fight half-assed and without much interest. I could fight against myself with dark sweeping armies and hordes of men with guns drawn and then burst apart at the seems like clogged arteries after years of abuse.
Now is the time to feed my soul. Otherwise it will starve to death.
-----
Make me remember you.
I want flowers to grow from my face. Turn my body into an urn in which a tree can grow.
