It may have been a Monday evening

when you felt your fingertips buzzing at your

lips.

It was a wind, a gust, of beauty in your anxiety

Nail biting

eating away at things that do not sense pain.

You creased deep into your 

fingers

clawing away a worry, a burden,

always so busy in practice and habit

until finally

it came too short of expectation for

teeth

and you look updownup at your own 

hand

and realize it does not look the same.

Your own piece of carved marble

body, 

marvel in the guts and the glory.

Others find it

ITCHING

TICKIING

because their confrontation was no so physical,

it was not so pure in form.

They have those do-not-touch mentalities,

those out-of-touch realities

but you are grounded in those

hands

in your 

mouth.

You went out of your way to shape and sign into a contract of 

unconscious decision.

this is all yours.

Don't compromise this,

yourself,

for the rest of the world.

Don't give up your skin in the wake of other's discomfort.

Don't lose your light when others get mad because

they don't know how to kiss away their own darkness.

The day you find yourself alone on an

island of some misconstrued idea that no one is watching

you'll be happy to have your hands

explain how your're coping.

You have possession, you have ten choices.

click

crack

shake

grind

whatever it may be

hold onto these irritations, these noises

fryingbouncing incapable of understanding.

Go nowhere without them,

you can't let go parts of your own existence.

The places that held your worry and your repose,

the trails of neurons in your head firing

like you could walk through a forrest and set off some spark to brighten

up the night,

there was no minding made,

mind, there was no thinking involved. 

You know it wasn't

28

days

it was years,

centuries of forming, shaping, of moonlight and macabre to

create something so miraculous as you

so undivided, so absolute.

That mouth, that spit, that unwarranted need for carnage

destruction

they hold parts of you:

misdiscovery

undirection

deunderstanding

all that may be chaos is grounded in your own

                                                                           BLOOD.

You need substance, some secretous cellular miraculous.

Let it flow in your veins, let it purge the perfect poison that tells you otherwise.

LET GO, listen to your own heartbeat wane and want and fall into familiarity

your meat suit weakness

because without it everything will be too fair, 

too reasonable.

Nothing else will lead you to darkness,

to yourself at the end of the tunnel, waiting.

Take it with you out of necessity, because when you do

you will take yourself by the hand

and not be afraid to

bite.