Disclaimer: I own nothing CSI.
Segmented, Part I
I tend not to sleep
when I sleep I dream
when I dream, the knife
rips through my brain
Daddy's open heart throbs
Mum's white fist falters
tense white fingers grip the shaft
open heart throbs on the blade
around me is a cube of walls
– sharp glass walls with sharp glass edges –
and stretched toward me, open,
someone else's
hand.
I tend to overwork
when I work I lose myself
when I lose myself I see
someone else's blood on
someone else's weapon cleared by
someone else's fingerprints
the evidence isn't mine, I just collect it
the evidence isn't yours, you just process it
the abuse isn't real, it's history
the emotion isn't real
it's my puke in the coroner's office
and someone else's
problem to be solved.
I tend not to think before I speak
when I think I remember
Daddy's fists speak out
they knock against my breast
Mum's breaking heart screams in my inattentive ear
the temper isn't Daddy's, it's mine
the violent shaking isn't Mum's, it's mine
the voice of relief is sometimes yours
but the hand held out isn't yours, it's mine
and what proves true
is always someone else's
dream.
You should see my apartment
you would think it's never dusted
because why would I go home
when you say the work is done
the work is never done
the city's bleeding never stops
my bed is never slept in
you can never take a hint
and as long as I am breathing
I never can forget.