Head, Cannon

you’re overused in my head

like a record scratch song

like stale gum—there’s nowhere to spit you

(my mind aches to slow down)

ping pong paddles pop!

a thought is not a pop, it is a bounce.

thunk/think.

you in words

and you in mouth

are two different people.

that said, 

lips on lips still don’t tell me

what lips off lips won’t.

(did you know I am a teller of stories?)

and these here are my truest words,

so why don’t you tell me a few, too?

hate me. I beg you.

I need a reason to scream that’s not

ice on thin ice on thin ice

let’s fight. let’s

you yell me into a fucking frizzle!

i’d rather you beat me to bits than

i pummel myself into pulp,

for a change of head racing pace

(at least!)

let me hear your knuckle crack

a tick is not time, it is a sound.

clock/click

shoot me dead—we shall both rest easy

you can blast my brains out of my skull

and I will finally get out of my

fucking mind.

Dorothy Swanson Blaker

(she / her)

Content warning: profanity, descriptions of gore