18 December 2014

In the Snow

When were you planning on leaving?
I've already gone.
I could not leave quietly.
I kicked down
the door, the barrier
between you and me.
I kicked in
your front teeth.
I could not leave quietly.
The stories you tell yourself
are loud. They rattle my ear drums.
Do stories expire?
Do they become frail and tired?
Do they become lies?
I've already gone
and told myself the truth,
that I can be brave
and have my own stories,
that I can plan on leaving
at any time, my footsteps
making a pattern
in the snow.

07 December 2014

Of Houses

Retroactive and backdated, gradually expired: I am an endless string of choices; I am riddles made of plastic; I make no sense, my teeth finally puncturing my lip; I am finally horizontal, stretched taut over the world, my womb containing numbers and data, my mind controlling my own version of space-time. I am an old calendar of pinups. I am an address book. I am a fallen tree, in which small animals make houses. Above all, I am useful, but only for so long; I am used, only for so long.


02 December 2014

Afraid (Reprise)

Have someone else's will as your own.
- Nico

Pulling lint from your hair, string from your teeth, you wonder, "Who will take care of me?"

He sits sleepily in his chair, at his station, his assignment. He waits to be fed. He waits for you to take care of him.

Pulling short strands of hair from your food, left there by accident, a clumsy calling card, you wonder, "When will I be fed?"

You smooth the sheets, pressed cool on the bed. You look in the mirror, smooth your curls. From the other room, you hear a gentle snore. He's satisfied.

You are beautiful, and you are alone.
- Nico