mr. mittens (akmed) wrote,
mr. mittens

you've got something that i understand.

on the kitchen floor by the water bowl, the cats circle my hammered head. retracted into a ball- i'm the snake biting it's tail .

crawling low, as if bullets fly by in the screechy, knived air, by the lamp. up by the lamp, i realize the light is killing me and slowly i return to the sea of my bed, drooling on books, wincing at space and time and at thought.

... this sympathy i am feeling is that maybe this time you'll follow through- a hope and a fear blended well with the unavoidable. i couldn't live with that head. how do you? i know how you do- you try to die.

you won't answer me, so i talk to your cat. are you leaving this time-? i keep trying to stop you and i'm not sure if it's a mercy or a cruelty. angry frustrated sad beyond feeling. i feel you and that is truth. it's also the truth that that's not nearly enough to do anything constructive. save stretch out and wait.

" did you see them in the river?/ they were there to wave to you."

and everyone whines that they don't get enough love or attention or that one didn't kiss their ass enough or one dared see through their veil of shit... and it means nothing. a migraine means more. a toadstool means more. sleep means more. someone needs to die to be free and the rest is the screeching of shallow and self absorbed little boys and girls.

love means fucking nothing, nothing at all. death is realer and more to the point.

i want you to live but ,for the very life of me, i can't give you a reason why . because you're here anyway ? because people who you will never be able to trust nor understand nor not feel threatened by ' love' you ( rememeber , it means nothing- sound and fury signifying no thing).

my head jack hammers away all weekend and i emerge occasionally to try and drink water, feed the cats, look out of one eye, askance. i'm
suffused in distant love i can do nothing about and you're suffused in a death you can do everything about whenever you would like.

you used to trust me. and now you trust no one. we called your parents and they still do not get it- even though this happens every year, like thanksgiving and christmas- so concerned about not admitting you are profoundly mentally ill, they serve you up in the body bag of their vanities.

i remember us begging them not to let you be released- and they're the only ones who had the power to keep you were you belonged. enabling, as usual. will it be any clearer to them when they have to come get your body?

i treat my cats better than they treat and take care of their daughter. it is shameful and completely fucking selfish.

don't go away. but i know that you're already gone.

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