Desert Abattoir Reboot

From A Desert Abattoir.

trigger warning

***************************

When

Sacred

began to be

sucked

from the room

I became too small

to even fit a thimbles dimple.

*

The air

iswasiswasiswas

IS

heavy weighted,

warm and wet,

for fetid decades

against my face and neck.

*

One breath

*

then I am but four

perhaps a tidbit more

and a bloody door

hangs open in my head

slug trails sparkle on the cement

taste of fruit punch koolaid in my vomit.

Poison fruit hangs in a silence

heavy with grief and rage

*

Breathe

*

The black dog, still a puppy

(outside)

shrieks swallowed

by the dark desert

(inside)

I am afraid,

But never in an outside way.

My trapped and trained

soon to be traitor's tongue

will trouble not one

of no god’s creature’s tonight

*

I am become so small

I make my sleeping space

In the old suitcase

I brought with me.

It smells like my alaska momma.

minor me moribund

wishing it a wizarding wardrobe

with inward by-way to winter

roast beast & homemade cocoa

I am missing

her goodnight whispers

that hide no horror

*

now

breathe

*

Then a Tommyknocker measure,

a gaping time.

And I am aping,

Fine.

I’m just fine

twitchily tapping

my naked

middle finger

in mindless

rapping

Minuscule machine gun 

keyboard reports

S.O.S

Save

Our

Souls

*

Don't forget to

* Breathe *

*

  the gray gravel

peaks

  & points

in word picture

rush down

around

  & over my head

(where are my hands... I can’t feel my fucking hands...)

*

40+ years of uninvited relative(s)

insistent

persistent

  still so maddeningly distant,

half aborted memories

that lie

and lie and lie AND LIE

*

Still toxictainted

from last night’s

substantial attempt

to entirely absent.

*

This is not addiction …

that’s a passive man's game.

This,

my dear,

is a goddamn

leisurely

lullaby-slow

suicide of substance

all in the name of numbing out.

*

“IT’S FUCKING MEDICINAL!”

The baseball bat mouth

wrapped in barbed wire

dipped in red Dread

Revenge Starved

BITCH IN MY HEAD

screams!

at no one in particular,

that I can see

*

A Hail Mary display

summoned by some misplaced neuron 

I haven't burned out yet.

Waste paper golems wanton-wielding 

 power still too potent

Stomped silly

punch-drunk

child soldiers

pushing past

to telltale

(as children often do)

don't drown out

the gears grinding downbound

in earnest effort

for the flattest affect

I can fairly offer

of my face(t)

*

(pay no attention to the old woman behind the curtain)

*

Natures nurtured nerves

gnawed down to a nub.

The tabasco turns

my cuticles red

&

burns my trapped traitor's tongue

stains my tshirt

*

two breathes now

*

and I am 8, no more

The closet door is locked but slotted.

Far and away an angry tv whispers

“There'll be no locks or bolts between us, Mary Kate...

except those in your own mercenary little heart!”

There are more slashes of noise and light…

Then comes much darker desert night

*

Breathe

Selah

pause

reflect

*

Now nearing 44

Just watch the door.

I will still

politely perjure

in the court of public opinion.

Again.

*

I said I’m fine!

Don’t fucking touch me!

Your embrace

comes liberal laced

with strained

sharp-edged sighs

only somewhat muted

*

I smell the sweetstinkrot of your panic

your guilt

through your shitty Walmart perfume.

And I know.

I just know.

*

How am I?

I’m fine.

just fine.

*

Disappearing only on the inside

gagging only a ghost.

But not afraid.

Never in an outside way.

e.holloway 2018