TUESDAY’S NIGHTMARE

i’m talking and you’re not listening. i think, oh.
i’m sorry, i say too loudly and nervously; i feel the sweat
cementing my skin to my skeleton and i want to tear the two apart,
i want to get a letter opener and cut myself apart until i am nothing
recognizably human, i want to dissolve myself into a smoothie
that the saddest person in the world will drink — they will die, i will
feel fulfilled, i want to feel fulfilled, i want —

for what? you ask, startled. i kiss you
hard
in hopes you will swallow the paragraph soon to spew out,

I AM SO SORRY FOR EXISTING. I AM SO SORRY FOR
AND WITH EVERY MOLECULE OF MY BEING,
FOR CRYING RANDOMLY, LAUGHING TOO LOUDLY,
BEING SO UNCOMFORTABLE, TRYING TOO HARD,
BEING NOT NICE, BEING TOO CONSIDERATE,
BEING VERY SELFISH, MAKING YOU UNHAPPY,
MAKING MYSELF UNHAPPY, MAKING EVERYONE AROUND ME
(ESPECIALLY MY PARENTS) UNNECESSARILY STRESSED OUT
AND ANNOYED, NEVER SHUTTING UP, FEELING SO GUILTY,
FEELING SO WORN OUT, HURTING MYSELF, WISHING I COULD
RIP OUT EVERY FUCKING MYELIN SHEATH IN MY FUCKING BRAIN &
TURN INTO A VEGETABLE OR SOMETHING,
PRAYING TO WAKE UP A SIMPLE TOASTER, LOVING —

you pull away and frown.
did you say something?
no, sorry.

we are both crying. i’m sorry, you tell me.
i’m sorry, i tell you.

i think, we could go on like this indefinitely.
i scream at the thought.

you scream back —
we are two wolves howling at each other
in mutual terror as the pack of hunters closes in;

my brain is the gun, my lips are the shot that kills.
your face is melting and mine is taking its place

my final thought before consciousness —
this would never have happened if we were toasters

About Ashley Shah

Ashley Shah lives in Southern California. Her work is forthcoming in Insert Lit Mag Here. She can also be found on Tumblr and Twitter.

Post Navigation