I wish upon a hell

Some days I wish I could pause a year of my life for a breath from the bewilderment

but I

add add add

until I am

a flurry of madness and distaste

a bland cycle of increasing intensity

extremism to counteract the teetering of existing

bland.

How the more sweetness I consume, the less it makes me feel alive

the more love I attract, the emptier I feel inside.

And more and more and more and more

until I cannot recognize

…

who I was before

I had these desires to cravings to dependencies

and next I’d have to pretend to turn it all off

lower the volume

until all I could hear or feel is the buzzing pitch of “had too much”

and I can’t go back

I can’t be less.

Some wounds don’t heal in the spans called permanent

as humans build as humans build

build and build and widen—fill—

from the fear of swimming in the depths of regret.

So I callous and stiffen into my next foundation

calcified in past mistake.

Then break, and move, and soothe the scarring tissues from my last inertia.

This lasting inertia.

Which only moves the ache from place to body and body to place.

Location can save? me?

location can save.

To belief in the power of blankness

so desperate for the empty, as if life could start again, as if I could go back back back to a beginning that set this prophecy in motion

and a cycle.

That going back would mean it would happen all the same, or so close the same that the end was made before the start

and I’d have to live this feeling so many agains that I would believe in hell, here

because the worst torture is knowing that you chose suffering

for yourself

for your love

for creation

for… ever

——————

we use hindsight for the future, and blend into uncertain hells

call upon the heavens to rain down; and reap solution

ask God to break the spell of imperfection, when all we are was born in a moment

of sin and certain punishment