Saturday, July 19, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
We met in 2002: young, eager,
intentional. You thought
my superpower would outlast every bid
every bitter obstacle that outdrew forgiving.
But you never thought I wanted to die
quickly as you would. You give me
a dead friend; I am thankful.
I speak of nothingness
that resembles rightness —
so they may not sense the damage dousing my pores.
You know how people are, how
they only see what they want to see of you. How
they squeeze the good out of everything bad. How
they become one in this dull unison of perpetuation.
I am the sterile will of giving up.
That brown plague detectable on a petri dish,
growing colder with heat, most corrosive.
Thus unnoticed, I escape the living.
Friday, May 30, 2014, 3:33 AM – 1:11 PM