Sunday, January 29, 2012

Running From

My thumb picked raw,
My heartbeat slows,
I left my thoughts on the floor
Last night
For no one to find

In the strobe-light
Smoke-screen
Blanket of modern noise
I tried to hide
From myself and everyone else
And needless to say
It worked
(that’s what I tell them).

Intermittent short-term
Accusations
Meet the same response
In repetition,
Shrug and raise my arms
As if they care what I tell them.

All this practice makes it worse
To bear,
Self-contained Atlas in
My own little world
Where I play both
God and Devil
Equally, and they are equal.

Your pity is my shame.
I saw the half-spoken glances
And the nods and gestures,
I was made aware of
Your discussions,
Your judgements,
No different than the
Pointing fingers
Moving lips that said
“Forever lame”
(that’s what she told me).

Once upon a time
It hurt to hear those
Sticks and stones—
Time never healed my wounds
But at least I’m now
Immune to almost
Everyone,
Not myself.

Third stop,
Let go of the rail.
In the cold and dark
At the end
I ran.

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