Friday, April 26, 2002

muddle.

tapped my fingers against the desk.

just clipped them
so the ends burned and
each tip jolted as it
hit flat surface.

patter patter patter...
rain
chills skin,
ice
creeps up your
arm and hugs your neck.
taps on your nose
and eyelashes,
leaves dimples
that glow red tomorrow.
little charcoal briquettes
under your eyes,
grease marker puddles for
puppy baths.
pay call girls to lick them up
and try not to vomit them back
into the bathtub.

they were plastic dolls
until they couldn't hold back anymore
and i made them sick.

traced fingers down the burnt embers
in the fireplace,
two fingers down a charred log.
held them up and
licked,

sucked for hours in the corner.

mmmm.

----

i've wanted to hurt people before. i'd hear about something horrible that happened to someone and just wanted to channel my rage by destroying whoever was the source of the problem.

but not anymore. that's not my role. i don't have any right to do that. i always thought i was responsible for fixing things, but i'm not. there are times when you don't have any agency and you just have to accept that. i can't hurt the cops who beat up my grandfather. i can't touch the guy who i thought ruined me last semester. even if i could, it would only make things worse. there are a million people commiting atrocities right now and i can't make them stop. people don't want me to act on their behalf and i was stupid for ever thinking that they did.

i can't fight the world today. run over me with a bulldozer if you want. i'll only greet you with open arms. drag me through the street and wave your flag. i can't stop you. not today anyway.

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