A hole inside my brain

allows things to slip through.

Thomas Pynchon's dystopia

met and married David La Chapelle's neo-surrealism. 

I feed on pills 

and it all changes

but if for the better, I don't know. 

Thoughts are more defined
Reading faster, words slurred
Always on a mountain
Always afraid of falling
Always Burning
Stomach churning.
Eyes are fully opened
But I only see one thing

Each word I read triggers a million memories:
Song lyrics, 
Quotes,
Obituaries, 
Lines from plays,
Lines from books,
Links on Reddit,
Tweets I’ve favorited,
Politico’s last article,
My dad’s conversation in Arabic with his friend-
I don’t understand the Arabic
But I listen anyways
I listen
And listen 
And listen
Always listening

but never to the right things!

My thoughts don’t leave time to catch my breath 

Remember your name.
“Rania Blaik.”
“You are Rania Blaik.”
But now that’s all I am.
Only a name
No attached personhood.

No thoughts
No hopes
No home 
No family
No mortality
No irrational fears
No high-heels. 

No fears she’s chasing paper-planes

No fears that her fears are paper-tigers
“Rania Blaik. Rania Blaik. Rania Blaik, Rania Blaik, Rania Balik Rania Blaik.”
If only.

What’s the time?
Where’s a clock?
I can’t think
I can’t breath
My thoughts are racing 
But at least they’re almost coming one at a time
Just stepping on each others’ toes--Not faces

I won’t remember these thoughts tomorrow
Or in an hour
So inconsequential
But the fact that I’m in my head missing life has consequences so dire
Too dire
Too big
I can’t deal with them
I’ll deal with them later
I’ll serve the punishment
The future me a scapegoat for my present me’s mistakes
Is that fair?
That future me is defined by present me?
And that present me is defined by past me?
What if I wake up a different person?
What if tomorrow I’m a hard-drinking party girl?
And the next week I’m Dorris Day the Scientist?
But I’m kept from curing cancer
And marrying a gay guy 
Because of hard-drinking-slut-me’s past mistakes?
Haunted by my past 
Frightened by my future
I want to escape
But I don’t want to die
How do I live life without observing it?
Damn you, Self-awareness
If only I couldn’t say, “I am.”
My nobility is a burden
I feel like I need to do something with it
something great
But I’m so damn lazy!

Leave me with my self-referential
Self-contradicting
Self-pitying
Self-loathing, thoughts.

What do you do
When the voice inside your head
has a speech impediment?