Fuck blinking

Right now I’d shoot Ritalin in my eyelids,
stuff them with Botox,
or Clorox,
or silly putty,  
(anything, anything)
to keep them wide open.

Because when they close
I’m hunted by
your lips
traveling my
silk-clad thigh.

I had to do without the
eyelid injections
and so instead
I amputated my leg,
(ran my damn stocking and everything)
thinking that might
help me find relief.

I cut it the fuck off
with that rusty box cutter
you left in the junk drawer,

so that I’d stop trying to
reach down
and trail my fingers
along the back
of your neck.

The empty space,
the lost limb
still shocks me,
but only when I try to stand up;

but only when
my eyelids close