The Screaming Sheep

It’s Thursday again and I have no idea where

the last week went.  I’m so sick

of static television screens and

has anyone seen my skin? 

It’s been an all-you-can-eat

buffet for weeks and there’s nothing left of me

to serve.  I’m yellowed

and sad and I’ve been on

my computer too many days in a row.

All my friends are pixel pixies with a magic

that makes me feel as if I’m never alone. 

But I’m always alone

when the screen is the only light glowing in

my tiny white

kitchen and I’m on glass number three

of Pinot Noir chatting

with Sam about all the black skies

and forgotten birthdays.  It’s Thursday

yet I forget what midweek

feels like.  With each glass I forget what

hands feel like.  What

is this thing I’m typing on?  What are

these keys?

I’m in crisis and I have no idea where I put

my PUSH THIS BUTTON WHEN IN CRISIS MODE button.

I never know where I’m

supposed to cry on Thursday after you

declare that the way I exist is wrong.  All these little eyes on me

when I’m welling up with

salt water seas, the Dead Sea. 

              I’m dead,

                            see?

Azia DuPont currently resides in Nothern Iowa.  She is an editor for Dirty Chai Magazine.  Her poetry has recently appeared in Empath Lit, Scapegoat Review and Haunted Waters Press.  Her essay "I love you like I don't hate tomatoes" was featured in Highbrau Magazine.  You can find her online via Twitter @aziadupont