On Saturday in Springtime

i could trace the outline
of your hands
with my eyes closed
i feel sick from pain remembered
i am black-eyed with the knowledge
that i choked on, forced to take in

i am days and nights behind this
some irrational illusion taking
breath out of my lungs
and i need
not to want to need things
i need something like lobotomized
to take away the things i feel
to razorblade the edges of this
thing that i fell into

where is the disconnect, the shutoff key
the lock to hold me inside
from the things that could demolish me
i hate the way my mind works
wish the words looked like before me
what they sound like in my head

being silent is the only way
to kill the vampire minutes.