u/Teleport_on_Me

You buy. Your soul made its biggest sale.
A smile sits, fake as shit
That which you just ate
On a Sunday.
Brunch.
In the neighborhood

Well oiled machinery
Excess packaging
You really were
Always this boring

Picturesque and perfect
Staring
The scene is empty
A screen

I picture you, finally happy.
And then I see your face.
The one that haunted my dreams.
That I drew on walls in Bic Pens.

With grit.

With knowing.

All my sowing earned me a castle made of salt, ash, and glass.

I am happy.

Why aren’t you?

I see right past you to all of the red plums.
The softest ones
Sloshing gently sweet pulp inside a closed mouthful of juice.
I am after the color of the flesh.
That orange red tangerine sunrise inside.
That mess of chin. Of bite satisfied.
The bitter.
The stone I skip on asphalt, with a flick of my right wrist.

I hate you. I love you. And your plumb black eyes.

The red ones are good. And dumb enough to love me.
Simple.
Sweet, their dribble.

And none of them eat me back.

It is ‘I am God’ to you

Reckless, impervious fool. Be impervious, and be true.

Someday you’ll come to, but it won’t work the way it did today. What connects us will break. The mesh will mend and time / space will no longer bend as we fancy.

You know, you had me?

We held the exceptions in our hands like fidget discs. Useless in the end.

I still sleep in your Viva Mercado shirt. I’ll never know how you knew I was summoning. You can keep the breath you took, and I will keep .. all of it. I am in love with you. Idiot.

The way you look at me—

is unhinged.

Is animated.

Does not flinch.

The whites of your eyes, the blackness,

the perfect roundness:

do you know how it protrudes?

It funnels.

It is both—somehow both.

What is better yet: I already know.

Nowhere is where this goes.

I don’t look away yet.

And how unhinged is that?

Keep staring, and I’ll meet you right there—

where we are both unbalanced.

Spinning plates. Tipping back.

Where we are both allowed to collapse,

and come to.

Solder it back on.

Go again.

Round two.

Just think about that for a sec!

Now stop.

Now use your tongue without a thought and pinpoint that place: locate the rot.

With your brain still off can you point out that spot? Can you show me where it hurts?

Show me your endless hole of dissatisfaction.

And if I could, I’d use my best thoughts. I’d point it out to you and for you, to God, with absolute contrition.

I’d finger it first, make waste of the worst, then fill it with warm milk and honey

And then, at once, I’d lick it all off—

I’ll lick that spot

Where all will be forgiven.

My lion face.

My scars aside.

I feel vindicated, like I’ve come back to life.

David didn’t kill me.

I still stalk his town.

Raking sands into marionettes:

Laugh lines, not frowns.

a lustrous life, my tongue laps it all off!

Off the lines and the grace and the necessity of blood smattering—

the death of every laugh out loud I’ve ever made .

The necessity of epic.

Any eye for an eye.

I get it .

I am.

I am a

Vindicated

Lion,

Man.

I’ve got work horse legs that won’t easily break. River rocks catch my toes but cant trip up my stay. Even wobbly, Ive determined to move forward, steady, with an awkward gait. I can see there are trees and I know where to go, only thing are the bone crushing juggernauts undertow. I’m not a fish, I’m not meant to swim! Still, here I am, on the brink. These waterways swell with fluids and insanity, the deep bellows of humanity, starved. The levees? What levees? They broke ages ago. Moving through this water might rightly sweep me under. Standing here I’ll most certainly drown.

There is no rushing the water. There is no undoing this force. Unstoppable. Immutable. It will run its course. A petrified scream immediately silenced. A voice still trying but too hoarse to come forth. What is moving brings life but no sympathy. from where it comes or where it goes or how deadly or how damned. I can’t sip out of a hose like I’d planned. I keep clamoring for a serenity , a calm brook with a deer or two.. some sparkling scenery that I can float on, like an otter.

If I keep on clamoring for my version of reality, you’ll find me floating and bloated and long gone. And sooner, and unsung. You’ll find me Where ever it is this River says I belong. Not a fish, but maybe sustenance for something more resilient. Something that was built to trust the outcome.

I’ve got work horse legs that won’t easily break. River rocks catch my toes but cant trip up my stay. Even wobbly, Ive determined to move forward, steady, with an awkward gait. I can see there are trees and I know where to go, only thing are the bone crushing juggernauts undertow. I’m not a fish, I’m not meant to swim! Still, here I am, on the brink. These waterways swell with fluids and insanity, the deep bellows of humanity, starved. The levees? What levees? They broke ages ago. Moving through this water might rightly sweep me under. Standing here I’ll most certainly drown.

There is no rushing the water. There is no undoing this force. Unstoppable. Immutable. It will run its course. A petrified scream immediately silenced. A voice still trying but too hoarse to come forth. What is moving brings life but no sympathy. from where it comes or where it goes or how deadly or how damned. I can’t sip out of a hose like I’d planned. I keep clamoring for a serenity , a calm brook with a deer or two.. some sparkling scenery that I can float on, like an otter.

If I keep on clamoring this way you’ll find me floating and bloated and long gone. And sooner, and unsung. You’ll find me Where ever it is this River says I belong. Not a fish, but maybe sustenance for something more resilient. Something built to trust the outcome.