Saturday, November 22, 2008

Untitled #23

He seems unamused by the news
The act of confiding in the imitation,
One that I instantly regret
Upon our initial return to his corrupted bedroom

The walls seemed to have shifted
Along with the furniture
The whole space smelling like cheap smoke and sweat

It reminds me of the person
He used to ramble on and on about
He would die before he became like the others

I lie back and let him fuck me
Whispers of genuine value
No longer floating around the space

On the other side of town
There is little discipline
And yet barely anything has changed

They’re all busy getting ready
Marking lines on the wall
To measure her height and forward motion

She looks like a dead insect
On her first last day at home
Legs viciously plucked from her body
Face flushed
And begging for the rays of the sun
To relent

“It’s going to be an interesting year without you here”
They all say

I simply tell her how much I’m looking forward to it

- C.W.

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