on waking: notes to self

i suffer and i fall asleep
i wake and i suffer
i plot against my pains
what will soothe?
whatever it is, it needs
doing and that is tiresome
in itself. i drag myself
from minor cure to cure
something that i
cannot even name
although i know
it all too intimately
what is self,
what is burden?
i’ve stopped calling out:
don’t you hear anymore?
i know i’m on my own
be it with witnesses
but what can they do
but watch and cringe?

take a bath. sink
if only for a second.
breathe in, even though
the air itself
frightens you
hope all over again
even though hope
has battered itself
into numbness,
still hoping it
can lift itself into
aliveness again
and sometimes it does,
for a while,
and it’s good,
for a while,
and i forget,
for a while,
and i live,
for a while.

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