chatter

the panic is almost constant now.

an incessant industrial hum that runs from the base of my neck to behind my eyeballs
typewriter keys
300wpm


breathing has become a hiccup in between deep sighs

part of me wants to cry until my eyes run bleached streaks down my face
the other part
the phantom hysterical middle aged housewife
aching for the next little miracle she dissolves underneath her tongue
trimming all the frayed edges away
needs sleep and solace in a dreamless heavy rest which remains elusive to even the most exhausted set of limbs and layer of sticky cold skin

I can't sleep...

Laughter takes my mind off of being on
it seems as if the soul rests on a duvet cloud of delight

but sadly enough
there are not enough Frasier re-runs to pacify the restless
for long enough to benefit from a giggle or a smirk

The mind races
my fingers scramble to filter the chatter
to form coherent sos distress calls
so I can understand myself

hello anti-depressant?
yes, this mr. tranquilizer calling for a broken lady
who's wires need fixin'

she's home but not answering the door
she's behind the door but not answering the phone
she's underneath
she's beside
herself

not home
not home

where are you?
where am I?
in this late night episodic vampire hoax
fighting off invisible mental monsters
tiny synaptic elves
ants of doom and fear of everything that can ever be spoken from
a slow death by blood letting or a quick invisible evaporation in a big bang
sweeping side to side finding scraps of reason to dispose of



fucken bloody hell
I can't stop this. I've tried breathing, but that becomes too intense. Following the paths of a cardiac giant inside of my body begins to freak me out - awestruck by the complexity of human anatomy

How about staring into the bubbling wick of a scented candle (I'm getting desperate here...), I see armies of exploding heads, melting faces.

How about just letting it pass?

highway din that never stops
it never really stops because the pavement always echoes the engine roar

*****

Way back when I was depressed, when I was more depressed than manic, I would cry for hours. Catatonic weeping that deepened with every gasp. There was a tunnel that i could see no end to. Easy to get lost, hard to get out. My body would eventually give up. A coma-like sleep would overcome me. By the time we got to the hospital, I was unconscious from the exhaustion. I ache for that surrender right now.

2:20am

*****

There is a solution to this problem - this - le grand prix suicide mission in my head?

Good evening Mr. ativan
How are you doing Professor rivotril
and so glad to see you Doctor cyclobenzaprine

but they are an addictive panacea to a greater chemical imbalance, or has this become a dependency already? Is my brain already hooked on this industrial factory pace that it has become its own worst enemy?

Bloody fucken hell

I think I might just take that muscle relaxant
just might take that last glass of LBV port and appreciate the clear "stems" as they romantically slide down the inside of a glass, acknowledge myself folding into bed until the morning - knowing that solace will only be found in my pleas for help and/or guidance into the voice-box of my psychiatrist who is : currently unavailable to take your call so please leave a message after the

beeeeeep