i.
My madness transforms as I write it down in rednotebook. I don't know how long itʼs been since the last time I left the house, six days, maybe eight, to return some library books—Dickinson, Emerson, Didion, mostly unread.
ii.
Sometimes itʼs better to write lines around what you don’t feel. I’m depression level 4 writing about depression level 6, trying to get over a readerʼs block made of pain behind the eyes and anxiety looking for distraction because video is so much more edible.
iii.
another day long headache five cups of coffee hoping itʼs caffeine withdrawal another another mad period I don't know what I can let go of this time slept too long
iv.
sleep deprived
in the library stacks
not high anymore but still
in slow motion
only one class left I can avoid to fail
I look over the security railing on the 4th floor balcony
to see if the line for coffee has thinned out
I will disappear, I think
I will leave clues in Pynchon novels
graffiti trumpets on corridor walls
steal laptops to sell, steal bikes, sell weed
write erotica for women
be kindle rich
later I will tell friends I went to a mental hospital,
so theyʼll be impressed by the progress I made just staying alive
"video is so much more edible" is like the best line. Thank you for this.