There's a naked bulb extended from the ceiling,
light so hot that it melts my epidermis,
goes to work on my subcutaneous fat.

All I know about life is in my little finger,
the nail that I chew off - nervous habit -
down to a quivering, bloody quick,
so that now the knowledge escapes me,
evaporates into the thick, stale air.

The black of amnesia is soothing.
I get up from my bed and turn off the light.

09/19/2005

Posted on 09/22/2005
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