I don’t even know how I got like this.
Each thought exists and persists.
Darkness is the void
Astro, retro-fabricated
domesticated animal,
dead on the pavement.
Rent is late, can’t read lately.
Don’t even know why you like me.
I know why I hate me.
I die naked daily, in my sleep.
I rock steady in a ship of fools
that no one drives
and no one rides
because no one is ready.
I breathe heavy
into my stereo speaker,
too intimidated to
speak in the receiver.
So I write to beats
you wouldn’t write to.
Wish things were different.
Died seven deaths, seventeen times.
Died an immigrant’s immigrant.
Don’t know who I am
and don’t like what I see
in the mirror.
Every time I take a pill,
I disappear even further.
My soul is straight murdered,
hung in a straight jacket,
called faggot so many times
I can’t help but laugh at it.
Wish I was different.
Some might say I am.
Been a stan since Eminem’s Stan.
And my heart has 36 chambers.
No Wu-Tang Clan, no Vietnam Dan.
Just a decibel away from something
I can’t stand.
With a mic in my hand,
I am laughed at.
A sword in my backpack,
I fell on it.
Not even lying, I am being honest.
Dishonest, I would say
I like living.
But here I am
on this planet
hoping that things will change.
But pile more meds on me.
Can’t be free to be me.
Every time I am medicated,
I am taken away.
A slave to medicine
I don’t want to take.
Just a heart that is broken,
that needs a break.

 

Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His third book, Train of Thought 2: Almost Home is available now at the Oddball Book Store.