Split slice slaw saw

If I was editing myself like an object

Obsessed with the idea of a perfect

A perfect shot, a perfect scene, a perfectly perfect me

I edited myself to a masterpiece that cancelled out my entire former self

Slowly split into the diaphragm of a broken record

The following Monachopsis that creases my body like sliced, open, raw flesh

Torn to pieces to give birth to a new monster of pure perfection

Your instinct to make indifference the main character inside of me

I can’t stand when someone says they have nothing for anything or anyone

When I’ve lost everything

When I had nothing

When I was lost beyond all recognition

Split and sawed and killed

I still had a harvest of something to give

So I had to swallow your whole grain of anger like it was something of substance as I had swallowed all of my own anger

And swallowed so much hate and anger and death

That your fair use of the word “nothing”

Putrified into a fake word of encouragement

A soft touch of a demanding smile

A false sense of relief under words that held no love. Maybe there never was any love. Just derived derision for my life

My dreams

My soul

My heart

Anger mindful of casting blame on themselves

Scornful splitting of facts, trust and integrity

If I was editing myself for a project

The project would be a space where anyone can stomp on it

And scrap off the little bits

To make themselves into the image of innocence

While the battered are the edge of edited evil

Gray spots left on the screen like pinches of sawed off hubris

No, not hubris what a cliche phrase

More like false hope spreading like a virus.