I could use a mental diet.
An improvement to create an almost
demarcation to my condition. To relapse into
infancy.
I think I would be comfortable somewhere, anywhere,
with brain fluid like cashmere,
painful episodes depleting from memory.
No therapist.
No rehabilitation.
The hideous, vivid, agonizing
memories would turn to
happiness.
Revisionist nostalgia.
Rarely would I need to create
a half-smile.
No longer times of feeling numb.
No longer a strenuous exercise.
While my profile gives no information to others,
I squeeze my fists
until my knuckles are white
and hope for the best.
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