or, a superbig throwdown that ends
in almost certain death.

i am being poked and prodded with metal instruments.

i just stare at a spot on the ceiling.
i'm not even here. i'm gone.

like a high frequency thru my bones,
reverberating within my skull,
i taste copper and salt, hot like blood
as they take a look around with the cavitron

scan me in, pull it out.
your identity online.

logging in, signing out.

parallels as i lay here, vulnerable on my floor.
"wide fucking open" i guess.

i can't fix myself with feel-good flicks or
preachy self-help books.

it's over. it's over.

i have not felt the warmth of another in
a very very long time.

so i lie on the floor in the middle of the room.
i remain still, unmoving.
i resist the urge to breathe.

i am like this when you finally find me.

a lowlife douchebag who doesn't deserve to be alive
or, a superbig throwdown that ends in almost certain death.