You say you only want to smoke weed anymore if you’re with a group, it’s the weekend, and you’re not drinking. Is that why you called so late in the day? To soothe a deep itch that I cannot scratch. Your therapist practiced eye darting with you twice a week for a year. When we call each other crying is it my madness that allows you to continue talking about how you just won’t do the dishes so he’s going to leave again, to get some relief from the stench of the crusted over crockery? Once the door to filth has opened it’s hard to close again.
Once, I didn't shower for weeks, now I can’t see the use in scrubbing the plaque off my teeth. No wonder the mentally ill die minimum ten years before the ill named sane population, bad teeth. I struggle with the word sane, as it implies dominance over people like me. When I am unsafe confessing the truth of myself to over seventy-five percent of the population, I cannot feel safe in the world. My workplace must be understanding of open sobbing but still unaware why my summer moods fluctuate, extending through to a fear of strangers in pursuit. Why do we allow the hair of the crazy to become solid matted messes? I will take you between my knees and comb out the nest with quenching hair greases and wide tooth combs until your tender flaking scalp can take no more abuse.
O