Sometimes you just need to punish yourself
as the romantic FOOL thinking there is a way out
like in the child’s action movie, flying through the teeth of a dragon
on a magic carpet.
Perhaps he did like me
perhaps he stopped talking to me and looks horrified when I am in the room
because he liked me
Perhaps I can fly passed the jagged dripping jaws
before the fire licks my presumptuous
self-loving and loathing-self.
Even so, the skin of my once beautiful back
will never be touched
in the way it wants to be.
How can 2 minutes in a room
with one person
saying almost nothing,
be like the cartoon on the TV
minus the plethora of colors
cacophony of Disney manic music
swirling absurd mad genie
while my world stops
in front of you.
The sword falls from my fingers
and you drive it through me almost gently, so easily,
without lifting a finger
Our stumbling nothingness of the English language went like this:
Me: “What have you been up to?”
Him: “Not much, really.”
When I leave, I don’t know if I am escaping through the teeth
or if the hole closed up and I am left in my minivan cave without a lamp.
It all looks the same on the other side of the front door to the Palace.
And so I light a little match in front of the steering wheel (I don’t really)
I am so grateful for its existence
because my heart knows what it is like to be cold
And it isn’t cold, because I still have Abu, the fucking monkey.