Frankenstein

Picking up the pieces

and carrying on

     because we have to,

don’t we?

What else is there for us to do? . . .

Only, I can’t stitch myself back together like this.

I sew on my eyebrow underneath my left eye,

       and my right eye sits too high.

(Probably shouldn’t be stitching myself back together 

when I am this high . . .

          but I’ll try.)

The legs connect to the shoulders,

and the hands get stitched where my ears usually are.

I sew my arms to my ass, which should help me write more shit. 

And the mind gets left behind because all I want is to forget. 

My little nose is under my hairy belly-button.

All this for nothing. 

The heart gets thrown in the river. I don’t need it where I am going. 

The sun is out but it’s snowing. 

The leaves fall up the listening trees in the spring this year.

     And the flowers bloom in Autumn.

Up is down and down is up, but we can tell this is rock bottom.

My fingers linger on the keys,

    hoping that if I bleed enough

she’ll start to trust

     this stitched up monster I have become. 

I am both Victor Frankenstein and The Creature, 

                   turning myself into a monster one stitch at a time.  

I’ll be fine.

CH 10/14/26