“I have something for you to remember me by,” said Tim.

    He held a little foam Hippo – the lone play animal supplied by the loonybin to patients in need.

     It was brand new – just as every Hippo looked – and I wondered why he’d chosen something seemingly impersonal in comparison to his other, odd gifts.

     However, what he did next made his hippo – my hippo – absolutely ideal. To people like Tim and I, that is.

     For, to my astonishment, he casually took the toy in his hands, twisted, and ripped it cleanly  in two.

     He ripped off its head, which he gave to me, whilst he kept the body.

    I will never get rid of that mutilated, foam hippo head. For he understood what no one else had ever come near.

     In this way – perhaps – Tim and I became synonyms. Synonyms for what ignorant perceptions would later christen ******, or merely, crazy (the latter - coined by those who remain too depressingly colloquial to invent unfounded diagnoses).

     These epithets, catalyzed post personifying such societal taboos as Tim or I committed, follow me still, and have yet to disperse.
  
     A criticaster disaster, personified.

     Yes; in this way – Tim and I became synonymously insane.


•

I have been waiting for you to come home, but you build a new one.

n.e

I try to be kind
but.

it is Tuesday.
I am crying
smoking
alone
outside my work
I am quite obviously
trying to keep it
on the DL.
there's no
loud,
dramatic weeping.
if
I wanted a random strangers
fake
caring
I would howl like the wind

I
would flail my arms and legs
against the ground
kick
scream
make it known
that I want
your words that drip
with fakeness
and your selfish
motives.

"hey-
are you okay sweetheart?"
do I ******* look okay?
why is it
any of YOUR business.
old man
stranger
I am sure you meant well.
but believe me
I know that
anything "comforting"
on your part
will just be regurgitated
lines
that you read somewhere
or heard someone say once
do not
pretend to give a ****.
keep your
unwanted
unnecessary
words

like,
it will get better
(thank you, all seeing being of the future)
don't cry!
(******* and don't tell me what to do)
but you're too pretty to be upset!

so since
I am physically attractive to you
Am I not allowed
to feel?
I am prohibited
from having
any emotional depth
any
substance
that would make me
a human being.
you make me hate life
ten times more.

maybe that's somewhat unfair.
maybe he was only trying to help
maybe I should
appreciate that somebody
wanted to make me feel better.

no, he wanted
to make himself feel better
a pat on the back
so he can pet his ego
and make himself feel
like someone who is
real.
good.
kind.
I don't care
for your half hearted sympathy

*******
I don't want to be
something
that helps you sleep at night
that makes you feel
like you are worthy
of the things you desire
worthy
of the women
you ******* to
worthy
of devouring
the grilled
carcus
of what used to be
a living being
that is sitting in front of you
with a bow on top.
you are worse
than the animals you eat.
you are worse
than the spit
that I launched at your feet

which to you, was
"way out of line"
good.
think about why it happened to you.
learn from my spit.

my words of advice
to this man:
next time you are out
and you see a stranger
who looks sad
or someone
who is crying
silently
to themselves
leave them the **** alone.
if they're making a scene,
that's something.
but there's a reason
I was discreetly
crying.

you are not entitled
for me to share my pain
my thoughts
my feelings
with you
if I wanted to,
I would.
me spitting
at your feet
is nicer than any words
that would have exited
my mouth.

I see she loves
As a winged seraph
She guards a holy gate
And does not admit the beasts
I see she loves
As a page of scripture
She speaks a sacred word
To the devoted faithful few
I see she loves
As an angels blessed harp
The only ones who can hear
Are the pious and pure of heart
I see she loves
But I am just a beast
No matter my reverenece
I see she does not love me