recidivi5t

i close my eyes and feel the christmas lights burn through my eyelids, and wait for something, anything from within to show me what to do next. the view is red and black pin pricks, pointilism, an infinite empty blood red canvas that only my eyes can see.

i can't adjust to a life of endless afternoons;
which one of us lives in this room?

i'll take the bus to the clinic every thursday,
but the experts won't know what the fuck to do.