Pulp by Laura Rumsey

Pulp

by Laura Rumsey

My bones are wet-

So soggy, so soaked

That they cannot absorb another drop

of fluid from my body.

They float heavily under my skin

so that each step I take

jostles the waterlogged marrow;

I'm as heavy as a dripping sponge.

My bones are drenched,

they're weighing me down,

and I think I'm starting to leak ...

My eyes are lead.

Too heavy to smile,

too tired to try, they droop, then fall from exhaustion,

from too many acid floods.

They crave cool darkness

to block out images I cannot bear to see.

They crave dreams.

My eyes, once brown, are smokey and dull-gray, and heavy with lead...

My muscles are cold spaghetti.

After boiling and draining all my strength,

I cannot offer anything solid, anything warm,

nothing but slippery, wet mush.

Limp as a leftover noodle, every fiber ofmuscle slides down

and down

into a hole at the back of my chest...

The storm cascades in torrents

as every inch of my waterlogged bones

collapses inside of me.

I am too heavy to move,

to even lift my lead-filled eyes.

Thoughts hurt.

Dreams hurt.

Everything hurts.

My heart is pure pulp.