Man In The Radiator

 There's really not much left to say. Or maybe nothing to say at this moment. If I could decide on the exact day when the sky would open up and the earth would be devoured into an apocalypse sparing no living souls, I would choose August 21st. I don't want to be reminded of anything anymore. Here's a new poem.  “Starcrossed lovers On a treacherous night Sharpening the blades  Of murderous delight.”  - Steve Severin  Trapped Discarded black lace dances Across the rain-soaked windowsill Once used to shield your escape attempts Numbered steps to ease existence  Gasping for swift release His hands are clenching them closed He’s tasting your blood filtered through twisting necks And ink-stained bed sheets Your tongue slipping through flecks of skin Trapped in his blackened gums. Pills scattered across your cut-up desk Xanax lodged in your drying throat Poisoned spit is your only resource Overburdened by the new familiarity  Memories stand on the precipice  Fireflies made

  I suffered through a dream the other night where I was welcomed in and accepted by certain people I will never see again for the rest of my life. There was a specific person that was absent in it, which was a blessing really, and I felt so content and relieved to be back in this certain house talking with these certain people as they expressed the same fear that I had - never seeing each other again. I woke up, of course, and it took me a good few hours into my dirge of a morning to remember the dream, to remember the feelings elicited in it within me during those sleeping hours, and realize it was simply all a hypnogogic farce. Reality rushed back into me with a savage gust of power and shattered me. It's been nearly six months and I have no idea how to process any of it any better than I did when it was happening.  I can't write anymore. Every day is spent in a chemical haze brought on by constantly having to switch medications and suffer through the initial side effects of