NO BONES, NO SKIN #poetry by jay

How does it go again? Ahhh, yes...
The doctor said to put some lotion
on it, or some oil.
I calm myself before snapping in disbelief.
I know how to rub moisturizer into dry skin,
if that’s what it is, or not.
It's incomplete. 

The answer to my question is not received.
My answer was asked as a last resort—
not out of stupidity.
I scratch my head, arm, knee and gnaw 
on the next stupid answer I get.


My wife says she loves me, but I can be 
such an asshole.
Times are strained now, we are gonna pop,
the world is fecal, floating
out to sea.

I cannot see the horizon, as shit consumes me
like an asshole running incessantly

on, about the end of the world, or the
beginning of time, that began 
the end of right now, at least,

I have turned into gas, it seems. 
No bones, no skin,
words in tiny bubbles,
thoughts that linger in a lighter than
troubled mind that doesn’t even
exist...only words no skin.


I see not even the experts have answers.
Their training pays them to downgrade 
into mindless quips of wiki-thoughts— 

of arrogance, of numbness, of thoughtless obedience.

Here, take my co-pay and I’ll be back in
six months for more abuse, punches 
to the back of my head, where my humanity
has drained-out anyway, no worries. 

Nice meeting you, and thanks for nothing,
at least I feel like I’ve accomplished something
today, in the rain.

©Jay Mora-Shihadeh

Photo by Bruno van der Kraan on Unsplash


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