the aftermath: Act II

hands on both walls—

was it for structural stability

or was i posing

like a 360° camera in the shower was there—

every angle in my head looked striking like the fog itself was paparazzi

i want you to know,

i took twenty-two pictures before my haze shower, no two images the same

i wasn’t burst photographing myself.

i don’t need to.

each one said something,

each pose revealed a sense of vanity.

could you pull that off?

or when you take burst pictures do you skim through

them and find the perfect one to post with a caption

you pretend is uniquely you—

though you know you stole it from your boyfriend’s ex’s page.

i can upload a file with twenty-two pictures of myself

post fender bender

all striking—

can you?

i don’t play down the mirror.

i just don’t pretend it’s not part of me.

pretending the twenty-two pounds of fat still cling to

my body—

like an old date

who never got to hit

looks are just one part i was given

until all you could see was the eyes convulsing from air

my glow?

quite sure it was always internally—

the fuse was given to me, but i set the first spark

you don’t tell someone with an altered mind

a list of their problems—

you only listen to them

i don’t glamorize abuse

i won’t glamorize drug use

but i will reveal to you how to prepare yourself for the fall of the century

i will tell you my truth—

my hands were on all four walls in my shower because it’s true—

i was falling

there was no camera inside

i let the delusion of one give me legs and strength—

and that’s what real power looks like.

you are the executioner who plays with needles.

let it be intravenous when all other

methods swell

this is just the beginning

i’ve walked through a familiar road when i was young

and naive—

three days felt like an action of rebellion

but how consumed must you be to believe you’ll

recover from that?

the real pain doesn’t stop when you push the needle

out of your body no—

that’s just ecstasy begging to speak

real pain will only come to you

days after

you last use

after you accept defeat

and let the night constrict you like you were always prey

the real pain will begin once the night sweats start—

when knives lodged in your skull start to twist—

when you crunch up and bawl yourself to sleep

knowing sleep won’t save you—

it is too late to go back and pretend—

you didn’t just have open heart surgery

with zero anesthesia

the heights of the high will scare you away

but if you stay and triple the pain—

after going through the first round—

like it didn’t just put you in a coma

talk to me—

before one aftermath takes you out clean—

before all of your receptors give out and shut down.

if you just need a hand to hold you,

let my whole body wrap around you and constrict you

like your favorite narcotic

i won’t say “go to sleep”

you’re already gone

and one day

it’ll be forever