vent

vent. #10.  

i exist in a self-conscious narcosis  

maintained by survivor's guilt 

and the compulsion to suffer 

i rise from sterilized sheets 

only to nourish, to sustain 

only to fall back into a vicious delusion, 

augmented hysteria  

devoid of light, devoid of dominion  

i move about my realm with a blade to my back 

and an anvil pressed to my abdomen  

scars of nickel deep lacerations 

from your judgmental blade 

tattoo my appendages  

i somber past grief and her accompaniments 

my larynx gurgling letters in a language  

i have long forgotten 

a dialect i only hear  

in the echoes of vacated halls  

it inaugurates as a resounding  

pounding sensation 

the morbid seizures and tremors  

of a façade’s dying breath 

bracing for impact,  

the collateral from words unrecited, 

preservative memories 

but  

at the climax of aired frustrations,  

the aftermath of acceptance, 

there is relief. 

relief. 

release.  

vent.