what a relief it would be to explode.
to flee this filthy sinew of self,
rush away from consciousness
in a billion different directions.
cellular long division,
pressure over existence equals merciful silence.
released from the garbage disposal of memory at last,
amnesia through dismemberment.
a you so small the pain has nowhere to settle.
Thanks for reading. Please clap, follow me or enjoy another poem.
🐝 beth
