5: what not to think about

i try not to think about
what i shouldn't
think about. it is, as expected,
hard. the mind spins and reels
towards what you try to keep
hidden. don't go there, you say,
and you've already wandered
thick in the bushes, you find
yourself opening pictures from
months ago and thinking, again,
of what it means to be alone --
is it that nobody will know
if i stay in this bed for weeks?
is it true that nobody will now
care? and why should they, right,
especially if you're such a --
and there we go, the mind spirals
onwards, dips its heavy limbs
into the very mud we shouldn't
touch. and how to stay away --

without realising, weeks later,
that everything you blocked
has been sitting in your throat
like an ugly ball, an expanding
thing, all sticky and unfortunately
explosive. perhaps it's like the
second fermentation of my kombucha,
'burping' the bad feelings briefly
in order to protect one's kitchen
from shattered glass and blood.

there's so much badness one
mustn't think about it. it jumps
from object to object. yes there are
people dying, the numbers skyrocket
but -- i must shut this tab! i must
stop watching. part of my fried egg
remains unfried, and i cringe at the
gooey, transparent fluid on my plate,
suddenly made aware that this is
pre-flesh, a body that didn't become,
and here i am, about to slurp
its insides down my gullet -- i can't,
and i leave some food unfinished,
but still can't tell how to balance
my brain in a way that's functional
but kind, how to forgive myself
but also keep pushing, how to, how to...