Tuesday, December 11, 2012


a scare
the edges of a bathroom
the sweet rhyme of a paper hospital gown
flattened, padded with everyone’s unease at your unease

let’s pretend to be honest

this is how you pretend it didn’t all happen
but it did
and now there is no going back, only forward
marching in place
one, two, three, four

this condition is not like dying or death
it is like a white flower
something to get lost in
something to bury the flesh of your desires

this condition is more like the guilt
you carry in your mind
like a schizophrenic
puffing up and pushing against the inside of your skin
except no one knows what their own skin feels like on the inside
until it hurts

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