The Absence of Wavelength

Yet

Yet

Leave her alone, boy. Let her rest.
She's had a long day of cleaning up your mess.
This life she couldn't put straight.
Your brain probably can't contemplate what
she's gone through since she
first laid eyes upon you, a bastard produced
from a loveless marriage. The fights,
her wails echo still inside your walls.
You're too ignorant to notice.

My anguish not yours to inhale.
Leave it alone. Go back to bed.
She's badly bruised, but not bleeding,
Yet.

7.13
7.18.21

Written during Long Hall, purely conceptual about the different parts of a schizophrenic brain negotiating with itself not to panic after self-abuse. And, I'm fine, too, if you're wondering (narrator speaking).