Saturday, March 16, 2013

we huddled in a catholic school bathroom stall
comparing cuts like baseball cards.
we were gluttons for sickness- furious with one another for their weakness 
and jealous at any wounds wider than our own.

they were cigarettes.

and i was a master of myself,
i was the best- i was

pretty girls fell in love with my destruction.
the car crash, the charred hulk frame
of absolute metal hollow; something that once was but is 
no longer there.
there are things that i do not tell to anyone 
like how i trace myself and the fibrous tissue weighs me down more than i pretend 
that it does and 
i talk of this to people but i do not feel it anymore and i do not know why that is. 

on tuesday nights i occasionally 
smell hot heavy blood.
in it's torrents, in it's mass quantities, i see a
sewer pump draining, i see 3 and a half ruined
i bet they were rust-red in the washing machine and i bet my mother
cried into her crinkled hands.

the noose broke so we turned into branches and leaves and wonderful things of
the roots formed of their own accord and 
i am no longer magnificent,
yet they still think i'm the best.
depression is an excess and happiness is a void of
the most overwhelming empty.
i am a radient vacancy. 

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