By Inches

The day is creeping through me. Each minute hooks its claws into my chest and pulls its 60 pounds up. They dig their puny nails and twist them when they feel insecure, about to fall. But their hold is heroic and inescapable. I can feel the mass of them dragging down as they clutch at my breast. Each tears through me. It is death by inches, incremental suicide. My cheek is turned. Pacifist I do not enlist but wait, watch as weight rips drips of blood out of miniscule welts. My computer clock drains me. My fingertails have turned blue. It could go on for years and years or maybe centuries, but the days will bleed me dry.

Sometimes they slip. Then there is a flurry of scratching and pawing as the minutes try to keep from sliding down into the ditch of my stomach. I do not want them in my stomach either. They sit there, resting for a spell as they gather energy to continue the crawl, fight the uphill battle to five o'clock. Or they foment into indigestible hours. The minutes give me a bellyache. I cannot excrete time.

The Letter I Should(n't) Have Sent or it's a good thing no one's reading my catharsis

To whom it may or may not concern:

I am writing on behalf of Ms. Do to kindly request that you get the fuck out of her subconscious. It has recently come to our attention that you are occupying precious space that could be better utilized saving/ruling and remembering the world. It is my duty/privilege to inform you that your presence is no longer desired, you have out-stayed your welcome, your number's up. Your removal is requested at the earliest date at your convenience, which will be the day before tomorrow.

The conscience of the Conscious Corporation sincerely regrets if you've got no place to go, but must insist on adhering to the policy stated in our memo re:she's so high above me, she's so lovely (please see page 11b). Additionally please refer to the contract (drafted principally by you, the lawyer, but agreed to at all parties), section 11.23 which includes a no-liability clause where we assume no responsibility for your being forced to sleep on the street or wherever you sleep. We simply offer the friendly council that if you find yourself sleeping in some uncomfortable corner or alleyway as no one else will take you in, it is probably a direct result of your oyster-like qualities.(Due to prior experience, I should know. You barely let me get my foot in the door, but intrigued me, hinting at hidden dark and shiny depths within that gray, utilitarian shell.)

Finally, we warn that there may be penalties if you continue to disturb the peace of our streets of dreams. Personally, I beseech you that it is a grave unkindness to tease and torment someone prone on her side, flat on her unconscious, vulnerable and defenseless in sleep to guard against betrayal of those closest to her. If you do not go gently out, we will be forced to adopt the precedents of mocking your person, policies, poseur pretentions, tapered pants, politics juxtaposed with privileged class, frugality (with money, mind and spirit but rarely body), friends and sexuality. Be assured that with your prompt departure no verbal action will need be taken against you. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this letter may bestow.

The Conscious Corporation