I call to myself from the front porch / I don’t hear an answer / I am a house with rotted guts / a flickering garage light / I would rather swallow fireflies to spark the abyss in my stomach than pills / self-medication / your memory is scorched earth / a place I return to unwillingly / I ask myself / what is this past / running rampant / flash before my eyes / hummingbird heartbeat pulsing faster / than the time it took / to take cover against the blow / shelter is pointless when you are / everywhere / which is to say I can make / a landmine of any voice / I juice myself like / a ripe lemon / stir bittersweet lemonade under a / blunt sun / the landline shook my foundation today / your breath on the other end / I taste the singe of every time I howled myself / hoarse like it’s stuck between my teeth / chew it like raw meat snap a wishbone in my cheek / pretend I swallowed the longer side / I slip back to your nails screeching / against sand / hung up hotline dial tone beeping / farther and farther in the distance / I am racked and wretched / wrung out / a towel beneath a tire / I keep the colander inside my mouth / how easy is it to tell a stranger that you are not only a lit match / but a bonfire / warmth to house cupped hands / I strain to remember / how much of me to burn / I bet you still like the smell of gasoline
Nila Narain (he/they) is a mad crip queer poet. They are an alum of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign where they studied computer science and creative writing. In their spare time, Nila enjoys crafting and napping with their cat. Find them on Instagram @nilarain00.
Serotonin 