by
social media to decide upon a trophy where Love may not feel such. such
emotional technology or issues at home while we defend our insanity. such
seared feelings such raging screams where both fret a misunderstanding. I would
meet beauty such an aesthetic frame so seated in vomit; by wild mushrooms mixed
with acid tabs to look up asking for your name; no recognition nor
understanding while we mix vinegar with milk. the spigot is delirious or
circumstance unstable while a shady character is vying to be left alone with
her. the children of women the crying baby or a grandmother asking for
assistance. we would run cold water, add ice, then place her in the tub. she
would drink the concoction her granny would keep diligence she would soon come
to, asking for her purse. we’ll call her Ingrid. we’ll throw out the needles.
we’ll apply alcohol to tracks. Ingrid reaches for liquor. she comes to, a
personality bold plus intelligent. she’d curse her granny, enforce a powering
tone, looking like a trophy. or more to a nine-year-old, where mommy is comatose,
while flirting with the young boy. such true beginnings or so in control while
someone is debating such an addition to your emotions. so into fate’s wishes so
underlined as a creature or with little worth in self. I would interview me—after
all those years—to understand a particular disposition; such familiarity with
dysfunction, such immediacy by behavior, so many homespun remedies. we miss
something vital— “It’s not I wish to destroy us; I find hatred for anything loving
me. It tells of responsibility it reflects of confusion it makes me sick to my
stomach.” but one is dazzled, we see potential, we fail to realize thinner
realities: by razors or knives, by overdose or resuscitation, by repugnance or
desperation of breath. to have violence, to respond to certain auras, to loathe
those other people. we have resolution, a soul redeems, while carrying a person
inside.
