Oh, your violin is slaughtering me.
There is barbed wire in my lungs, sucking up inside my throat each bloody damned time I breathe.

Oh God, I keep shaking, I keep shaking, I cannot stop shaking.
My skull is thundering in upon itself, and my ribs are imploding. My hands will not cease trembling.

HELL! I CANNOT SHOUT LOUD ENOUGH TO DROWN HER MUSIC, the murder and sway in her HELL in her shifty trauma in her tattered voice in me.

It will not cannot stop halt die Oh God Oh God Oh God. No words will keep my teeth from chatter-clattering together like nervous bones.

Do you suppose think accuse that this is hyperbole? Come to me, look at my red eyes my wracked hands my crawling jaw my spasming muscles me.

Run run run find someone--find it before it mixes your songs together in a vinyl cocktail of our sweet blood, of our black blood, your guilty circus of blasphemy, your niggardly calm of death. Red red red.

Keep speaking talking writing fleeing Oh God Oh push it away louder louder. Run Oh Jesus Jesus damn I cannot see anymore. I want to crack I want to burn I want to drill a Goddamned hole in my skull, I want my brass requiem. Will you play gunshots at my funeral mass? Will you cross yourselves and cry? Will you pound at my coffin and beg me to come out with bruised hands?

You will do none of these.

Here is leaving here is dying here is my only solace.
You are still here, you are still wringing my tears from my flattened eyes. Do you see my dullness, do you see my sorrow? Do you see me? Louder, louder.

If I keep writing, will it leave? No no no it will not go. It will rise like a fiery vengeance and spit in my fucking face. It will strike me like that, oh Father of Mine, oh Sweet Father who wrecks me and breaks me over his thumb. Can you not will you not have some jesus mercy, some crying mercy on broken I, on swindled I?

Suavecito, I liked to dance. I liked to dance, oh my love, to an unchained melody. Dear God, I am sorry. This is the last bullet. The hollow sulfurous cylinder of me is too much. Today I say, today. For Christ's sake--did he die for my sins, did he?--they are bloated and floating up into my eyes on the bent spines of tears. Oh my God.

Morning sounds her keening death knell. Mourning sounds her weeping horn. Tear me JESUS or I will tear myself. I will rip myself and I will burn like the ashes of me did before I was ashes.

So sleep on, sleep on. It is better to bleed in silence. Take me, you crows, pick my carcass and take me with you, scatter me.

Scatter me.