Intrusive Thoughts

They crawl in.
Uninvited.
Like drunks at a bar,
loud and messy,
telling you things
you’ve been trying to forget.

“You’re fucked,” they say.
“You don’t even deserve the skin you’re in.”

They make themselves at home.
Feet on the table,
a cigarette burning too long in the ashtray.

Sudden.
Unrelenting.
They get into your bones,
become your blood,
your breath.

Dark.
Like a jazz tune that doesn’t end.
Just loops and loops.
Every note cutting a little deeper.

You try to drown them in wine,
or ignore them in the blur of neon lights,
but they’re still there.
Always there.
Part of you now.

And maybe,
just maybe,
they’ve always been.