Malaise of malaise

Ah. The malaise of this story doesn’t even begin to unwind the tension that lies between my bones, each joint being held by tacky glue

Malaise of my neck, like a swan neck being snapped in two

Or three, three points of contact like a karate chop

Roll onto your lap, your face falls off in an explosion, escape, your eyes linger on my shoulders

Lower, lower

Lower

I had the malaise that lingered on the buds of my taste, sorrow in the tunnel that had led to my demise

I don’t have the strength

I don’t want to have any of this strength

It’s a stew burning so hot on the bottom of the pan

Black and blue and charred, like me

I swap out the white paint of the yellow cured grapes

For a swill that created my skin, burning

Like a twig in the desert

I paint my face with stuffed mushrooms, silky, smooth, soft and chuffed with layers

You can feel their tickle as you walk through the patches

I can’t even tell you how tired I am

I must go on for there are some who cannot walk from the agony

The pain of being, of stuffing without substance

Of submission without permission

Of malaise that layers upon malice

Malaise of malaise

I’m so happy I’m tired,

I’m alive.