I'm tired.
I numb with music, substitute
feeling with sharpness, taste of blood
oranges.
Stars and citrus.
Words are jumble, speak and stumble--
I say to myself quietus is silence,
better to keep to yourself with your
sarcasm and cuts--numbness and sharpness.
I practice inhabiting my love letters, my suicide
notes, my little ant cage--
Watch them struggle. How
cute.
Stardom and gods.
A mortal's more fun than gods--
Why practice these strongholds,
these hauntings, this phantasmagoria.
gods are wordplay, they watch us
struggle in little ant cages--watch me stumble,
let me
speak.
Fault and fate.
I promise I am not mean--
I mean--sorry. Forget I said anything.