Truth is.. pt III
It is already 4:30
the day is practically dead and
i am sitting in a shallow six foot
pool of vomit
drawing circles in it with a stick
in the middle of the kitchen
drawing the entire world
country by country
island by island
in this ocean of bile and
half-digested food.
There is no one here and
I cannot wear these clothes anymore.
No more excuses.
This is my home, and i can sit naked
in my own vomit if i want to.
Look at me!
Look at the skin on my forearms!
It's really grotesque and
has turned brown
can't you see!
stretched
shredded
dirty and fragile,
an old cow leather shoe
a dead leaf.
A thousand dead leaves, branches dangling
from my arms
filling my mouth with sweet brown death
And my bones!
Do you hear them?
They are growing hastily, with
loud cracks, spindly and sharp
like evil mangrove roots
coming out of knees, shoulders,
bursting the carcass at the seams with
the loudest of hisses.
Am I still alive, my love?
Is this the way the Tree of Desire grows, my love?
I was promised fruit, and a leafy canopy over my head.
I had imagined meadows with me growing wild as english ivy
I had hoped for some kind of wisdom to fall, dripping ripe like a fig.
No one had spoken of shattered bones, coffins and madness.
the day is practically dead and
i am sitting in a shallow six foot
pool of vomit
drawing circles in it with a stick
in the middle of the kitchen
drawing the entire world
country by country
island by island
in this ocean of bile and
half-digested food.
There is no one here and
I cannot wear these clothes anymore.
No more excuses.
This is my home, and i can sit naked
in my own vomit if i want to.
Look at me!
Look at the skin on my forearms!
It's really grotesque and
has turned brown
can't you see!
stretched
shredded
dirty and fragile,
an old cow leather shoe
a dead leaf.
A thousand dead leaves, branches dangling
from my arms
filling my mouth with sweet brown death
And my bones!
Do you hear them?
They are growing hastily, with
loud cracks, spindly and sharp
like evil mangrove roots
coming out of knees, shoulders,
bursting the carcass at the seams with
the loudest of hisses.
Am I still alive, my love?
Is this the way the Tree of Desire grows, my love?
I was promised fruit, and a leafy canopy over my head.
I had imagined meadows with me growing wild as english ivy
I had hoped for some kind of wisdom to fall, dripping ripe like a fig.
No one had spoken of shattered bones, coffins and madness.
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