The road is vinyl; I am the needle. The grooves led me to breakdown in pain. And now, broken, I became a patient. Through these injuries I fear I’ve lost my voice.
I left myself in that rutted earth. I had to turn and walk away. Well, I don’t know if I feel whole. I guess time will tell if I still feel.
I could go two ways - slaughter my brain, or learn to medicate and forget everything. The hand that I was dealt contained no aces. While it served me well, for a spell, it just ain’t sustainable. The balance I had learned from living in my own brain has plainly failed.
As I turn away, I can hear my screams from under the dirt. They’re nonsensical, irrelevant and paranoid and dangerous. As I get farther away, the more than I want to stay the same.
But for now, I’ve buried myself to spare someone else from having to bury me.