‘name a god before it’s over’ by Chloe R. Berry

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you can’t breathe, i know.

i get it.

i can only speak when you ignore me.

luckily –

(whether for you or for me) –

you always do.

look, there’s this tape, a fucking cassette, this neurological mess of thick black tape rolled neatly into this godawful crinkling static VHS that i cannot claw out of my fucking skull no matter how hard i try probably not even if i poured acid all over this shitty hunk of meat encased in bone atop my stupid fucking neck no matter how hard i try lord knows i have tried and my flesh crumbles at the memory alone so FUCK YOU.

i still wake up with lungs full of mud.

it’s not a metaphor for what you think it is.

you don’t get it, you don’t care, you’re still ignoring me.

i’m so tired. i’m so tired of watching that fucking tape. yes, i fucking am how would you know otherwise and just because sometimes i play it at will doesn’t mean i like it, it doesn’t mean i like it and you won’t ever understand why i do it so stop trying.

it entered me freely. i don’t know when. but i let it in.

look, sometimes i just want a reason. and you gave me one i can play back over and over and over and it doesn’t stop and it goes over and over and over and

just pick one already and pray.

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