when i cry
my pulse comes from the back of my head
not my heart
and it beats there, like a tumor
it throbs like the heartbeat of pain itself
a relentless rhythm crowding the tears
and shoving them out of my sockets
so they fall
tumbling headlong down my cheeks.
when i cry
the world is blurry like it should be
but i know
that the fuzzy edges are still
more than sharp enough to slice my skin
and rip open my fingers
if i dare to touch.

10/01/2001

Posted on 10/01/2001
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