on breaking the fourth wall of the fourth dimension

ill-fed & malnourished as if garnish is on the food pyramid. traipsing around with sunburnt tits & an elevator key in your pocket. it changes nothing, the changed body. you’re still the one that tied herself to the train tracks & called it immersive art, called it a moral dilemma. i watched you bleed out over the toilet cursing god as if god has the time to give a fuck about your slit wrists or hair-clogged drain pipes. call a plumber. it’s just tuesday & you’re just you & sometimes rasputin does die. sometimes you’re allowed to move on without rolling your guilt, boulderous & gritty, up the hill again & again. so move out of the way & keep the scrabble score on a fresh note pad. it’s all qs & zs & trying to unearth logic in what was never meant to be parsed through an intellectual lens. there’s no sense to be made out of drowning in the bathtub or overstuffed vacuum bags. sit up. empty it in the trash. throw up your dinner before it’s too late & the digestion process has gone too far. no. keep it down & pay for your sins by stacking the pounds on the scale like a check out aisle & there’s too much pressure in the skull where the above ground pool presses on your temple begging you to be twelve again & to never develop the fear of eating in front of boys or dry swallowing tylenol. did you ever learn to mow the grass? there’s a rabbit in the bush praying that you won’t kick dirt over the entrance to its home & the fig tress will bloom come september because a new school year is always a chance to rebirth before the harvest. please don’t shave your arms. it won’t make them see you as pixie, just manic. a nightmare begging to be reframed as some sort of prophetic dream & even john green couldn’t reshape you. just trapezoid your way through a life sculpted to fit only rectangles & strangle what little life persists in the weeping echoes of your mind. be kind but don’t be kind to those who will use it as a spring board to vault into a sleeping bag filled with scorpions they keep inviting you to share. go camping but don’t touch the dick of the man reaching out to you through cannabis-laced haze, pawing at who you could have been if you just saved yourself instead of choking on stardust & acid rain as if the equation could balance out to constellation & not an eviction notice. there’s sound advice in the psilocybin but only if you shut up long enough to feel the pulse of the earth bubbling under the surface of your peeling skin. no one amounts to more than who they see themselves to be like the noose reached through the glass & wrapped its heart around yours. don’t die wearing the flesh of someone you wouldn’t even hold.