I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW
TEARING AT THE ANGLES THE SHADOWS MAKE
ARE THEY REALLY INSANE OR DO THEY LAUGH AT ME
LIKE I USED TO LAUGH AT THEM; THE PITIFUL CHAINS TORN BARE
AGAINST THE SKYLIT HOTEL FLOOR
WHERE THE RIBBONS OF WORDS, RED, NAILED LIKE SPARROWS
TO THE WINTER, BLEED INTO THE RIVERS BETWEEN THE BATHROOM TILES
OVERFLOW
I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW
WRITING A LETTER TO BE FOUND SOME OTHER DAY
“WHO WRITES THIS?”
FROM THE CROWD OF MOTHS FOREVER BOUND TO THE BULB
THAT WE KEEP SWITCHING ON/OFF
A CRY OF HELP
THE HOTEL WINDOWS ELECTRIC WITH LIFE
AND A HEADLINE STITCHED
TO THE HEAD OF THE
FLOOR BED
“THIS SONG IS FOREVER SUNG” THE CROWD LEANS
WHO THE FUCK WRITES THIS?
WHO DOESN’T?
I CAN SEE MYSELF PUNISHABLE BY SIN
BY MEN IN CHAIRS AND WOMEN WHO BEAT THEM
WITH THE
EXTENSIONS OF THEIR VIOLENT PAST
CHILD
IN THE CROWD OF THE OLD, FOREVER BOUND TO BREAST
NEVER TRULY DYING UNTIL MOTHER DIES AND HER KISSES FINAL
I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW
UNTIDY LIKE HANDS ON SKIN
I CAN SEE MYSELF NOW
SUDDENLY ALIVE AND WATCHING
THE BLACKBIRDS OVER THE OCEAN; FAR OVER THE RAIN
LAUGHING
FOR THEY KNOW HOW IT WILL END; POISONING THE AIR WITH THEIR WINGS
I CAN SEE MYSELF
I CAN SEE MYSELF
NOW; HELD UP BY MACHINES THAT THREATEN TO GIVE
REASONS FOR MY
LIVING
About the Creator
Daniel Evans
“Do you hate people?”
“I don't hate them...I just feel better when they're not around.”
― Charles Bukowski
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