Screwed
Need.
Like the turn of a screw.
Need.
Tighten what's been screwed loose.
Need to know that this isn't all that this life can amount to, two.
As the seconds pass, three.
Free.
As the numbers float from their mouths, need.
Primal. Instinctual.
Need, neither statisticians, nor numbers.
I can do the math; my background is right.
I need to know that I've chosen right.
Left, the side and those gone.
I need to know that everything that I've pondered has been right
and that I've made the right
choices.
That everything that I have ever done
and all the bullshit that I have had to wade through before I made it through the barbed wire
alive
has been right.
That this smile hasn't been misplaced.
That you can't just touch a little girl in the dead of night,
right?
Need.
I need to know that somewhere, out there.
Life comes with choices.
That's what I need.
Death brings those voices.
Those that listen and ghost over bare skin in my sleep.
The ones that I talk to when the world gets too much and I drown knee-deep.
I need to know that there is something after
because if there isn't, then what the hell have I been doing-freely living
what the hell have I been doing-continuous giving
what the hell have I been doing?
And I can go on through the INGs and the fake deep
end where I will drown as the trap door falls and the curtain call sends
those that never even knew that the end had began.
I need to know where I stand.