|For People That Bitch|
September 15, 2013
(I don't care.)
I was a ghost's sunken chest,
a mute martyr,
an aimless angel
without a holocaust to hover over.
There were dragged days and beaten minutes,
shaved heads of calculated seconds
and cold helpings of bludgeoned hopelessness.
I know of your lust for consciousness
to be a handed-over and down dream,
a prisoner's hollow dirge, a tunnel without vision.
I know of your need to have it so,
the way you waver in and out of lucidity
like a wasp,
into what you never fully see the whole of...
and I know how to die in a moment -
and collapsing into clarity simultaneously,