And, for a moment,
I had sex, in my head,
with the idea of pressing
my lit cigarette into the flesh
of my wrist.
But, in the stroke of a flinch,
I am reminded only of that
painting by the estranged,
autistic artist.
The one I can almost hear
scratching at my innards,
so lonely.In that coded sign
hidden from myself,I saw an unfinished end.
And there is nothing that
I fear more than
dying selfish and alone
at my own hands.Cowards.
Cowards, we all are!
So full of spite,
So green with our greed.
The very notion of us
being able to think
”I am important.”,
or ” but, I am different!”.
It is so familiar that
it’s sickening.
Curse the simple web
that spun the traps within our paths!Curse the plastic voices that
taught me there is only one belief!
And, Curse my weakness,
my naiveté ,Curse me now, for thinking I know
anything at all.I think, if things were different, the world
just may be…
a place I wouldn’t yearn to leave.
These words..
