That Was Me You Saw

That was me you saw driving down the road with absolutely no place to go, imprisoned by the same tired landmarks, my head thrusting in silhouette screams, my hands gripping the wheel in white knuckle rage, looking for someone to run over.

That was me you saw spitting up blood in the alley, a thousand unstoppable parasites nibbling on my back of bent paralysis, grinding my teeth with thieves eyeing my wallet and a silenced God observing distraught.

That was me you saw shooting flaming arrows at my friends, aiming to keep them away, fulfilling my own prophesies of doom, dodging the arrows that come in return, calling in empty echo to come back.

That was me you saw walking down the street stark naked, hands held out in Frankenstein pleading, begging to be held with throbbing erection rifling pain through my body, twisting my insides in mind warping agony.

That was me you saw peeping through your window to gain a glimpse, finding you buttfucking the duped maid, watching mommy beat her daughter in front of the neighborhood kids simulating the sextacy of her own midnight madness.

Burn the fucker

That was me you saw lighting my writings on fire, burning them before you could read them, knowing the good they could have done, withholding life from proven worldly abusers, denying me as you deny me.

That was me you saw in leash and collar, yanked before the world by the money god's victory, selling myself out, damning the world for following its rules, forced to eat dog food before laughing masses of self-destruction.

That was me you saw sneaking down the sacred sidewalk, talking to myself in consternation, throwing arms around in defiant gestures, frustrated and confused by my position, watching you turn away with eyes filled with hatred.

That was me you saw hiding in the corner having a nervous breakdown, seeing you thinking I was pretending, hoping it was an act, feeling superior by ignoring it, leaving only my death to prove you wrong.

That was me you saw measuring myself for the hangman's noose, sucking on the end of a .44, no way out because the real pleas you never acknowledge, failing to die with convenience, all of us vainly praying the truth not to will out.



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Can you smell the death?