Tongue daps vinegar,
and your face winched,
as if offended,
as if death was a butterfly
fetching nectar from you,
but your soul has never resided
any body other than yours.

Yogurt is enough
to make you scoff,
sandwiches the same,
you shudder at the sight
of my teeth flensing fat
off a rind and the cream
of hardened tallow on steamed
rice.

Your lunch box comes with
this world’s gravy,
mine comes with
I-am-lucky-that-I-am-here
kind of deal.
Mine comes with bricks
my scrawny frame has to bear,
mine comes with my mama’s
expectations that I need to
build a better road for my siblings
and I to walk on.
Mine is more edible than
what papa keeps in his belly.

You have a lunch box,
I have lunch, now go eat.

I put you back inside your box
and placed it just behind my eye
the lid is loose and the sides cracked
light shines as though under a doorway
your story paramount in my library
when you're not here I hold a breath
that is yours and yours alone, a sigh
for when we are once more met
and history tumbles like yesterday

They thought it was easy:
they tick the boxes
and we dissapear.
But it didn't work like this.
It never does.
They should have known it by now.

The problem is,
we aren't just boxes to tick.
If you **** your nightmares,
you will forfeit sweet dreams.

They hate everything what is different,
but on the surface
they are nice people,
who wouldn't hurt a fly.

Haven't we all got two personalities,
good and bad?
Heaven and Hell in one?
At time it makes us dizzy.

Some of us suddenly switch
way too easy.

I was asked to explain what I mean by
"Dead Inside"
Typically I pawn off a joking motion
waving my marionette arms
to hide the rabbit in the hat
I adequately nick-named misery
because it keeps me company.
But if you sawed me in half
I'm quite certain all you will find
inside is a silhouette of  man
dancing around in a light box
doing the same fruitless jig over and over.
A couple of loose strands
and a few holes in the images
but the end is the beginning
and I am putting on a show for you all now.
The curtain is  my mouth
strung so tight you'd think it was a smile
And the words I say spin round and round
not a genuine frown in sight.
The light may be on inside
but the picture never seems to change
day after day,
collect the pieces off the floor
get up,
fall in love,
trip over the same type of girl
have my heart shatter into pieces
fall back down on the side of the road
remember how uselessly alone I am;
rinse and repeat.
This is paper thin love
and see through expectations that will not fail.
And it doesn't matter which way you spin it.
Its A tragically bad silent comedy
that doesn't need a narrator to explain
Just how miserable the person inside really is.
My heart is just a silhouette of a man
and if you think you can put some tangibility
behind it and not have it shatter into 1000 pieces.
Congrats you too have joined the circus.
and spin round and round in my light box.