cuts

i cut, cut it in halves, cut it in quarters

no matter how often, no matter in what variation you try to put this thing together, you just can't

i started out with a plan, cut it in two, cut it in fours, and now i dont even know what im staring at.

it started when i opened my mouth. should've kept it shut, should not have cut, shoulda woulda coulda.

the torn corner is poking my eye, tearing down the flimsy layer, damaging the most sensitive parts, those that cannot be repaired.

*shoulda woulda coulda*

it's like a chant that keeps coming back to haunt you. my migraine has taken over most of my life, slashed through my head, sliced up my brain, and cut through straight to the bane of my existance.