Famished: Poem Unlimited

I'm hearing this poem in my head
its from my past/its my past
and it wants me to write it out
from inside my head
it was there from the beginning when I was nearly dead:
this poem/this poem bitchin at me
asking what am I, am I what, and am what I
bitchin at my head bitchin at my meat,
shakin on my hips,
wobbling on my thighs,
wastin inside my breast,
gettin tricked by my lies--
all messed up words, broken,
all messed up mind, spoken,
all messed up shit, sounding,
words...am, what, I, what, I, am, I, what, am
over and over and over
until it comes out in the right order
death--is a cop out
its there for when youre
invalid, being the patient and the subject,
the case study,
the taker of shit, the asexual bitch,
the pencil sketch of a human skeleton,
the bearer of nightmares of hunger,
hunger, hunger, the hunger itself
its a cop out
this poem/ this poem
bitchin at me
shittin out of me,
hurtin me,
you feel me? you feel me?
bitchin at me through my teeth
bitchin bitchin bitchin
im sick of it
dont wanna listen to it/or anymore
to what its tellin me
im being played like a broken instrument
by some kind of disease
thats invisible inside me
that shrinks my body
and shrivels my skin
until im fucked with pain
and my bones say: hello.
my bones say hello when theyre starved
they say help me when Im carved/carved from skin
like a sculpture in rapture/i need an exorcism
to get me out of this far
this poem/ this poem
bitchin at me
showin me up/drinkin all my stuff/
bitchin bitchin bitchin
gotta learn to just fuckin deal, you hear?
gotta bet on myself like im a long shot, you hear?
gotta find a way to go from lukewarm to hot, you hear?
and its all there, its emptied in booze/when you say no booze/
when you spin/ sink/swim/in your body like its not there/
where is God when you wanna ghost to appear?
its all there/hating you/
in love, in sex, in work, all taken from you
in an instant when you swim in yourself
and your bones scream out to the world, hello?
Hello!! HELLO!! Does anyone fucking hear me?
I'm sticking out, showing you my edge, words...
what, am, I, am, I, what, am, what, I
you begin to loose your mind, the compass of your soul,
telling you to go forth and push on, and navigate
your body out of the vast ocean of depths
that stick out of you, but you drown, and fall into yourself
because you're the real drama, the Grand Fucking Epic,
all by yourself, you hear?
Starvation, your grand fucking epic, the one you wrote,
is a crutch, you lean onto your bones
like a stick figure man, jostling inside you,
poking your organs and your skin
like your body was a coffin,
ready to break open and show the world
this is me--you feel me?--This is real.
I'm getting there soon
and this thing takes hold of me
every chance it gets, it never leaves, it never sleeps,
its a cold, cold blue deep within my chest,
this this thing, this poem/this poem
bitchin at me is my brush with death
and how many people
can say that they've been there before/
before/they know it'll be their last breath?
AHHHHHHH!FUCK!!!!!
this poem, this poem
just keeps bitchin at me
saying come on do it again,
you dont need to eat,
youre just another pig in the pen,
i've added words to this revisionist history of my life,
of bitchin, and feelin it all the time, seeing what am I
from my birth to the end
I feel how life is itchin,
and im stuck with time just bitchin
im searching for words, for a friend,
who'll grab my ribs and yell stop it
you're at it again
but this poem/ this poem
bitchin at me is not my friend
its not my head,
its the invisible me inside my skin,
crawling like a beast,
rippling beneath my skin like a wave--the boogey man--
Mr. Starvation himself--making waves
beneath my skin, Mr.Starvation/a tsunami
crashin into my head
better get a priest
because I could be dead
I could be hurt if you dont fuck with the latin,
then pray its your first
better get a priest
because starvation's a hearse
this poem/this poem
bitchin at me is my private drama
wanting to come out of me
and be the grand fucking epic
that it is, a play within play
that hushes the excitement and throws out your kin
youre sinking in your skin
youre hurtin, and prayin, and askin God
for your ghost, how many saints
do you need when youre lookin
to kill off your host
everything becomes life and death,
when you are your own bag of bones
carrying around your torture
all grand and crashing,
all storm and stress,
bitchin bitchin bitchin
this poem/ this poem
all it does is bitch at me
and all i ask is how many rabbit holes
does it take to die
to feed off the core, and drown out the tsunami inside,
how many runs, how many miles does it take,
to find out you are your own martyr
starving at the stake
how many gulps of laxative tea,
how many fingers clogging your throat
does it take to shit out the you
and throw up your saint?
but all this poem does
is tell me what to do,
it bitches and runs
and vomits and bleeds out the misfit of you?