Pretty
shells go waltzing down the avenues
Like
hollowed-out eggs at Easter time, freshly painted.
Dear
and lovely smiles parading like shrill laughter,
So
delicate and refined, so carefully crafted
Like a magician’s best selling gimmick.
Shining,
vacant eyes gaze with contentment
Upon
the filth and heartache they cannot see.
Their
beautiful, stupid faces hide their ugly, stupid brains
And oh, how happy life is for all of them.
In
the city it is always twilight.
Silent
mouths yawn with the hushed, white noise of dawn.
Brick
and concrete stretch into the sky until they scrape.
Buildings
stand stiff like glittering, glass soldiers
in dark slacks.
Selfish
edifices, like possessive lovers, grope at the sun.
In
the nefarious shade of the steel trees that never sway
The
motley scents of newsprint, urine, and nourishment aimlessly drift.
Throughout
the asphalt paths of blinding, dim traffic, penury and bedlam,
It is never chastely quiet.
I
stow away my bastard, grateful ideas
And
forget about them.
I
forget about my dreams,
The
imaginings I know are worthless.
I
overlook them for years, months or weeks,
Until
I conjure a morbid necessity to remember.
And
I do.
I
get a vague idea of what I originally wanted
And
the adjustments begin.
I
slice at the parts of myself I prefer to leave unnoticed
I
gouge at my naively placed passions,
And
stitch up the holes with more seasoned policies.
I
dice up little sections, and redistribute them throughout
The
original middle eventually becomes the end
The
beginning is discarded and replaced by something striking and practical.
The
more I try to clarify my intent, the more abstract the whole becomes,
And
in the end, it usually matures into a more pointed design,
And
it sounds prettier.
Of
course, much of the initial emotion is lost during my amateur surgery
But
everyone must kill himself or herself accordingly.
Revise
Revise
Revise.
Blind
and lost in the emptiness
I
groped along, heart pounding in my ears;
I
was clumsy and foolish.
Everywhere
I went walls sprang from where there recently had been freedom
And,
frightened, I tripped upon your presence.
You
had been patiently sitting in the labyrinthine void,
Waiting
for reality to presently arrive.
I
did not recognize you at first, for I could not see, and you could not speak.
The
nonexistent world growled garishly from the surrounding nowhere
And
I felt the smiles, and love, rise from our throats.
Self-loathing
spins in my stomach,
This
prison, this body, is ugly and scarred.
But
I will break through: I will be
beautiful.
Death
is not a threat to those who do not deserve otherwise.
Down
the hall is the door
That
conceals my long running and secret affair.
I
kneel before lunch’s porcelain fate, my confidant.
My
raw throat begins to convulse, going through the motions
And
I tremble and shake, quietly, oh so quietly.
I
fumble at the faucet, splashing the cool water over my salt-blurred face
I
look into the hateful mirror,
“Why
do I do this, you stupid little shit?” A stranger stares blankly back at me.
Her
pale, yellowed skin looks old and frail.
Her
expression is wilted and dim.
“I
don’t know. Why the fuck should I care anyway?” She seems to answer.
Her
lips are washed out, unacquainted with smiles or laughter.
Her
eyes only look inward, caked over with regret, but there is nothing to see.
“My
god I look awful.”
“No
time, no time…”
I’m
so hopeful and pathetic and guilty.
The
guilt.
The
guilt alone makes me feel nauseas.
But
just think how thin I’ll be!
How
not horrible I’ll be!