For I have known the eyes already, known them all,
Eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated sprawling on a pin
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall
And when the words leap out of their mouths
Like acid filled bullets
Lipstick bullets cannot hide the bloodied lips of tales and lies.
And sulfuric acid will rip apart my organs.
The toxic gas that leaks from a strategic point
Will poison fish and poison lungs
And little boys will carry spoons upon their chests.
The condom will break inside the little girl’s body.
My heart will break inside myself
And I wish I had the magnetism to put it back together
But I am human
And that means being broken.
The chemicals inside my brain are out of sync and out of tune
Because the world is an imperfect place
And perfection is a construct.
I have friend
And they’re terrified to live.
They don’t tell me the exact reason
But I’m pretty sure it’s because the world will only continue to devour their soul
In the race to first place.
And to them, the only way to get that gold medal
Is to pay with a silver razor to the inside of their wrist.
I don’t care about the afterlife.
I can’t care when the present is plagued with
Absent fathers, abusive mothers, people who tell us we’re not good enough.
I’m tired of broken homes.
I’m tired of people dying for useless causes.
I’m tired of being a puppet in the eternal battle of good versus evil.
I’m tired of waiting to live.
I don’t want my only hope to be a Heaven that may or may not exist.
I don’t want to live seventy years
Only to fall into a dreamless sleep when I take my dying breath.
And I don’t want my only legacy to rely on the world’s perception of me.
But most of all, I don’t want these hopes to be unrealistic.
I’m scared to hope.
I’m scared to live
And I’m scared to die.
And if I’m being honest,
I’m even scared to cry
Because what good will tears do
Besides eventually contribute to the rising sea levels.
Call me a cynic.
I think it’s the only good thing to be called today.