Seeing in the dark

Keys clicking like little frantic heartbeats
(a frightened rabbit, a bird)
That bright white glow against the dark that means:
"I'm connecting to something."
It's not a computer.
It's a lifeline.
Half-empty beer bottle
leaning, cold against my hip--
I, prone, propped up in bed,
crippled.

My fingers are the only animated part of me now.
I could use them--
press into my eyesockets,
squeeze and pull the unseeing parts away
push, push past the mush of hot, wet tissue
find the gray matter.
Clasp it. Tug at it.
Pull it out, fling it,
smear it on this screen.
Then, everything would make sense.

My fingers refuse to obey.
The little clicking keys
are soundless.
A trigger is one loud click.
It's an easier way to get my brains
onto the screen.

I Guess So.

Here we go again.
My fingers don't even work.
You're welcome, all. For me not doing it.
I can feel the steel, the angle at which it rests, oily
in my mouth
(full of boredom)
cold metal, a long reach--
say "ah."
Touch the roof of your mouth
with that cold, cold metal.

Lovely.

Licking it in my mind.
(The open, oily barrel)
Really? No.
Shotgun funeral.
Gun-shy.
Dick.
Cock.
Fuck me to death.
My brains out.

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST COME FUCK MY MOUTH UNTIL I CANNOT SPEAK OR WEEP
MAKE EVERYTHING WET
ALL FLESH
BREATH
COME
COCK
THRUST
LEAN PUSH
RIBCAGE
STOMACH
PELVIS. DIG. GRIND.
BONES.

...shocked..?
Oops.
Better now.