hopes were too high
i was talking like normal
what an indomitable buzz-kill
oh shit,
i recall now
uh-oh, oh god
saccarine sickly
false words of solace
to break the wacko horse
escaped like crafty inmates
how has it come to this?
what am i resurrecting?
once a leaf turns, it’s over
there is no skipping record
no scratch, blood, scab, heal
death has no encore, footnote
nothing extra there, no crumbs
even memories fade, lose clout
no, i didn’t say clot, but anemia
we wilt off, find nutrition other-
wise, sickness, elsewhere, what
variables are infinite, figure 8’s
pleasure, hop on board, ride
around and around with
some-one other than
disastress 
I love that this is the centerpiece of the poem: “what am i resurrecting?” Even if your readers don’t know what you’re talking about, this line should send everyone to a deeply thoughtful place.
“i was talking like normal” This makes me wonder what you mean by “normal” — your normal, or the world’s idea of “normal.”
I could read your second stanza a million times.
“there is no skipping record” This line gets my juices flowing, coming up with all kinds of meanings other than a scratched music record on a player (or lack thereof).
there is no skipping (like a child)
there is no skipping the record of events/facts
there is no skipping re-cord (like how we used to record our favorite songs playing on the radio)
there is no skipping re-cord (reattaching to the umbilical cord, crawling back inside the womb [emotionally])
there is no skipping re-chord (hooking up to an IV of music)
Love these as well:
“find nutrition other-
wise”
“variables are infinite, figure 8′s
pleasure, hop on board, ride”
another killer analysis by you. thanks, dear heart. it’s amazing!