Vulture

I have vilified myself in my own mind.

I try to think back, to retrace my circling steps, 

to pinpoint precisely the exact moment these

cranial lithospheres began to diverge and collide.

 

I scratch my head dazed

and, my scalp has begun to peel so

come, peer into the depths 

that are too far to reach unless flesh is torn.

 

I tear through these thoughts with the tips of my nails

til the flesh under my flesh began to show raw, 

down through the pericranium 

into this expanse of pink mass

 

I gorge myself on the thoughts that escape 

torrentially through these tear ducts but 

the rate at which they flow is nearly negligible 

next to the rate at which they form.

 

I tire of this itinerant heart,  

it comes and goes-- when I don’t want to, 

it makes me feel-- when I do,

it keeps me numb. 

It constipates my thoughts and keeps my mental in an

intermittent yet seemingly ceaseless series of

explosions and implosions. 

 

My mnd is mutilated and 

I took no notice 

until it was an unrecognizable mess.

 

Memories marred and tissue left scarred,

I gather what’s left with skinless fingertips that 

sting in this salty sea air.

 

I want to give my all to you

but I’m stuck, conflicted over 

which pieces of me are good enough.

 

I just pray the leftovers of me leave a good taste on your palate.

A full plate is a delight and feast to the eyes, but sometimes

the scraped up scraps are the sweetest.

 

                                                                                                   -TMB