The Narrative I’ve Built For Myself Falls Apart – Yet I Do Not

In waking
in dream
in sleep –

and the leaves
fall from twigs,

and water cascades,
and dream-states
of sleep,

in psychotic
lesions and bubos,
and questions,
questioning me,

I will remove
the veil of
consciousness,

waving goodbye
to ships,

waving goodbye
to wakefulness,

as if from hemlock,

I heard Keats in
altered states,

pupils dilated,
leaning toward
armageddon, fire

and toil, trouble
in those clouds,

there is a
cockroach in
my mouth, in my
ribcage eating away,

heart palpitates –
I can not sleep.

Step by step
into the dark water
that took my
grandmother.

I wade into lakes
of darkness,
pitch-black eyes,

I’ve taken drugs
and kisses,

learned that what
I have is precious,

I am not a disease,
walking through alleys,
smoking cigarettes,

rain travels in buckets,
in barrels and caskets,

and teardrops and burns,
and sand and rivers

joy in disgust,
ecstasy in rambles,

I lay tongues down
in the recesses of the mouth,

plant bodies in my ventricles,
cut cords from intestinal
wrongdoings,

wither and wander through,
walk and step and stride,
lay on my stomach in parks,

read books of poetry
to the people I love aloud
with a burning mouth and
an empty head, and

enter that night voracious
with a love for the dark.

Noah David Roberts is a non-binary poet and artist based in Philadelphia, PA. Roberts has released 3 collections: Us v. Them, 2017, about the nature of sexual trauma and political violence; Strips, a divagation of the self, an endless ranting masterpiece; and Slime Thing [and other poems], a scream of anti-capitalism and stream of frustrated proletariat consciousness. Since publication of their first book, Roberts has been published in Big Scream, Big Hammer, Tribes Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, and more. In 2021, Roberts placed in the Judith Stark poetry contest. Their Instagram handle is @the.apocalypse.poet.