The wrong way...

Drill Bit

Tuesday I hear it’s going around;
I’m off...again, knuckled white.
Wednesday I will talk myself into
Round about routes to denial.
If I say it, then it won’t come true.
And, I find comfortable restraint; bound to
Repeating it over and over and over. And again,
It feels better that way, medicated meditation.
Then Thursday everything is white. I eat
From a bland full service spectrum buffet,
Plated and nothing touches.
I won’t even sip from her cup.
By Friday I am unable to tolerate human contact.
And, I count back to the last
In order to find spared time. I’ll be free-
On Saturday what is in the air will kill me.
So, I hold my breath between rooms. Suffocated,
Sunday I become completely restricted.
I will not accept from anyone, anything
That has been anywhere other than here.
Those days, they wear me hard
And to the end, so I have become
Exhausted from the fight. I finally sleep.
Then Monday brings me back, slightly.
With a negligent handshake,
So that again Tuesday I am found,
Wringing dry, anticeptic hands.
I will not allow myself to open a door
I stay; refusal and restraint, withholding.







p.s. its got quite a grip.