the yellow wallpaper

it feels like wallpaper inside my chest is peeling off &

rolling down—

it hurts, i won’t lie to you.

i did it to myself, i’ll gladly victim blame so you won’t have to.

it’s a car accident but we’ll call it a suicide.

that’s how i want it to be.

 

i’m impatient—

that’s the word—

you could say “afraid” but my father calls me impatient

like my mother calls me moody.

i’m too “afraid” to wait,

i walk away and that wallpaper comes peeling at

a terminal velocity.

i wonder if the taffy hurts

to be stretched apart like that—

i suppose we’d tell them they did it to themselves.

 

i don’t know why my heart jumped into my throat the other day;

more of my impatience, the walking away, the taffy, the hurt.

how does it end? the question.

wouldn’t i like to know so i could jump straight to it.

for now, i better go the the improvement store,

get some blue tape.

but, that blue tape, it’s not very sticky.