A nervous breakdown stuck inside
an Easy-Bake Oven
with pre-designated frosting mix
doesn't easily keep me all together.
An internal ice cream truck repeating
the same song again and again,
coiled bags of evil
clown heads on hooks.
Damaged root systems
clog every drain. Not enough liquid
for my roasted duck feather brain's
plucked neurons.
But some days I try hard
to remove the sticky masque,
rearrange the way I see myself,
prepare for my new neurogenesis.
