"Letter. to Some. One. else" - Written 27/03/09

If thoughts were easy to arrange,
why would I bother writing?

I wouldn't be tugging on my hair.
I certainly wouldn't be grating my head
against a wall, just because it lasts longer
than one scarlet smack on the brickwork.
Pretty, slimy stains, trickling down the paint.

I'd have someone here,
my best friend,
to beat me until I can't feel anything
until I'm barely breathing,
and I'd smile and nod
telling all the accusers,
and everyone who wants to lump me in
with some category or another
to Fuck Off.

It's okay for you.
You're an idiot.
Haven't had a single thought.
Never will.
And then you'll die.

Would you like to try this?
Let's go. I'll trade.

2 mes. 3 or 4.
Or a hell of a lot more.

The evil me.
Live backwards.
Locked in a brain with
people he likes to hurt.

And Sex.
Never.
Brought.
Anything.
Good.

The child.
Still wants directions.
Path-Etiq-Uette.

The "Real" me?
Who?
He's not here.
Just pretending.

The truth is just a lie.
All the words. are Left. Unsaid.