My heart–

–is thundering in my chest.
I can feel it,



the strangest tattoo
that echoes inside
the meat of me,
pounding like
it has to get out,
like the sound of it
is something screaming.

I can feel my whole self
shuddering, trembling.
I have that feeling again,
the wretched crawling feeling,
the ‘I can’t get out of my skin’ feeling,
the ‘void thing sitting on my chest’ feeling.

The black itch
that worms its way up the back of my neck
until it’s swiveled behind my eyes,
and seized my tongue.

I have to drink
it out. I have to fuck
it out. I have to burn
it out. I have to gouge
it out. I have to. I
have to. I have to. I have
to. I have to. I have to.

I have to.

I can’t
stop here.
I can’t stop.
I can’t stop here.

This is where
the bad things happen.
The crossroads of indecision.
This is where they come and tell you
how awful you are.
This is where you ruin everything.
This is where you fail.
This is why
the sky is so heavy
and has to be held up.

Don’t get close enough
to tell me to be strong.
Don’t get close enough
to tell me it will be all right.
I will bite you
and burn you
and curse you.

I’m not worth it,
anyway. I’m just
a broken thing,
used up and
done with.




I’m a safe skin you wore
and I’m lying to myself
louder than
I’ve ever lied to anyone,
so I don’t have to show them
they’re right.

“I’m wrong” is the sound
of the valves opening
and closing
on the ice that moves inside me.

A heartbeat all its own.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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2 Responses to My heart–

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Feeling your pain, Jones. Be well.

  2. Those last two stanzas.
    Damn. And Bam.

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