A play in ounces III

Maybe I will scream

until every lightbulb burns out. 

I am whole in your presence. 

When I write scripture,

I drag my nails across my chest,

devoted; obsessed. 

I am an emotional burn victim. 

There is nothing left. 

I burnt it down when I was born,

a dialectical nightmare:

two thoughts opposing;

a record scratched;

A wit's end. 

You want to know how my story ends.

But there's no safety 

in being the Savior. 

Your lifevest is like mine.

And we all drown in the end.