Balloons & Parachutes

This stomach can’t stomach me.

Staple my stomach down, staple it down down.  Waking into nausea, falling to my knees, staple it down down.

Look at me now.

The echo in this pale bathroom, the bright white lights, this dentist appointment has gone horribly wrong.  I swear there is no cartilage between my verterbrae, just pieces of bricks and sand.

Look at me now, looking down and terminal.

A billion bullet size ants crawling over my skin, a pin prick to make sure I am awake, I stare into the toilet water and nothing stares back.

Look at this mess of me.

My body is failing me, my mind is leaving me, look at me now broken and stapled down, hollow thoughts and unrealistic expectations making me ill.  A mental anguish is better than the physical torture.

Look inside me now.

I crawl on my belly like a baby snake, milked of all my venom I am on fire.  Pull off my head O Lord, I cannot cope with waking to this.

This stomach can’t stomach me.

Save me.