I wish I could cut my head open and extract all of the bad things
the way they do certain types of cancer
under the careful study of surgeons and sterile conditions
I’d scoop out pieces like an ice cream sundae
with a big spoon and an Exacto knife
careful not to drip any of the contents as I go
as it may burn holes through the floor and beyond
I am sure, with the right kind of eyes
you can look at your brain like some kind of twisted road map
every fucked up occurrence like a fork in the road
leaving its own scar
like nicotine does to your lungs
I know that certain parts of my brain are blackened
like crude tar from
the rage and gnashing of teeth
the purity of hatred
the lifetime of disappointment
the sickness of self-awareness and
the years of conditioning
I would cut all of it out
if I could
and keep those parts in a mason jar
hoping that I would heal into remission
instead of being eaten away by parasites
that consume everything like a wildfire
scorching all who stand in its path
leaving their ashes in the wake
like children scarred from watching parents
go after the throats of each other
with broken glass
