Day In The Life of A Self Destructive Kiana Roberts

creative writing corner Day in the Life of a Self-Destructive

Kiana Roberts

Self-destruct with me, just for today.

It doesn’t look as good as it’s known to.

It’s slower, for one, like carving slices out of caramel or honey

Grinds your teeth the sticky sweet that curls in yellow faded cuspids

Lust in spark of those who strain the muscles in their face to assure you they can be trusted,

Because surprise surprise, people look at smiles more often than you would ever think to want them.

It’s not just bone but blood and guts, churn the cement measure breaths and hope the devil cares less about

your temple, down the glory chuck the cup; body builds brick by brick the shame of sagging dimples

The fuel of food a myth you scarf anything that is around you it’s not compulsion it is acceptance you are a monster made to ravish

Draw the blood where the blood clots and needle the precision reserved for medics cut and dry and take the little hitches you are given

Hitch the skin carve the hide smoke the meat and burn all the fat that’s left within it

The human shaped things that people do on autopilot pilot silently and free

Your pilot sings in smoke and engine powder too high to fly through caverns other people don’t even see

Their pilots licenced yours is airborne- you’re left hurling back into sea, their pilot preaching your pilot dead and your swimming alone feeling the closest to dead that you could be

Nothing matters and when I say that I understand the confusion of a nihilism that developed in later high school when teenagers tried to be more interesting than they ever earned the right to an abstract word that proclaims to the world yes I know philosophy please look at me and love

Me

No it isn’t that- nothing matters in the matter you reside in could pull and drown you and you think that you’d let it Not for any nefarious reasons or something ugly like suicide but because your body pushes down and thus down is where you reside

There is no anatomy or thought behind the direction or its destination you think its fine to die it’s alright to die; the air in your lungs is the same as the air outside

The air is in, the air is out. The day sets cold and bitter now but don’t you worry, don’t fret too much about yellow smiles and drowning pilots.

I’ll leave the self-destruct on my end and I’ll try to stay more quiet.