Now

Sitting there

Next to my nameless friend

Hearing the orchestra perform

Their instruments echoed through the great hall

Three tiers above the ground floor

I think about jumping off

Thoughts enter as they often do

But for yet another reason I don’t

The canyon is free today

Toothless lady behind us waves a flag

Memorable wed woman wears fishnet stockings

Outside rain gently coats the winter streets

I feel so uncomfortable in my chair

I question to myself, “Is it hot in here?”

My head feels warm.

My clothes are uncomfortable

My throat is sore from my medications

These eyes of mine are burning

I’m hungry, yearning for food

Thirsty, for water, for purity

My insides hurt

I have an itch, a tingle

I begin to scratch

The center of my chest

I no longer hear the music

It’s all irrelevant

I can’t see my nameless friend next to me

I scratch this carnivorous itch

I unbutton my shirt

Placing my hand against my skin

Scratching, scratching, scratching

I feel this burning inside

Rough burlap bags on fire

Spools of barbed wire fighting for position

Vultures pecking at my insides

I must scratch my itch

My fingernails dig deeper

I’m making red streaks across my chest

I scratch at my itch

My itch becomes more powerful

I tear at my flesh

And my skin comes off

The philharmonic ignores me

And I avoid them

I dig

I dig out my flesh

I scratch out my flesh

Until I reach bone

I scratch until I come to my sternum

I pick at it, picking off my flesh

This itch

This constant itch

Blood is on my fingers, on my hand

As I scratch I remove more layers

Scratch and dig deeper

Dig a hole into my bone

Snap my bone

Break and crack

My breast bone splinters

Pieces scatter into the undisturbed stale air

I scratch until I can no longer scratch

I pull out my heart, is itching

I scratch and scratch my heart

I scratch this itching heart

My heart is in the palm of my hand

Still beating, I ask,

What do I do now?

What do I do now?

© 2011 David Greg Harth

11.02.25.17:20:05@550NYC