Destructive Anachronism

ah, I’ll never try to publish this piece of dreck.

“Start again.
The walls are yellow
The food comes in queues.
“Who are you?”
She asks, as if I knew.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I spit at her,
As if she knew.
Back at home, as if I knew home
Mates churn and warp,
Stopping amidst the muck and mire;
I see A. there as I chew mine

Chewing hers, fingers and toes
But no, here I am in the yellow
It counts, time that is.
She has yellow hair;
Interesting, that.
She rants and raves
All sorts of things, flowers
Drugs, Animals, Girls, Boys
You name it.

She’d be a new Pliny.
Yet still I sit here.
Watching House, M.D.
I gained a new tattoo
From the girl whose Unitarian
Ink inspired me
And whose wedding invitation
My parents refused to give me.
But time ticks away.
I think about him,
And despair, because what can I do?
I sit here alone, despairing,
Because what can I do?
Make a change, says my sister.
Make a change, perhaps,
Be someone, just perhaps.
Would that mean something?
Perhaps.

But then again, who knows?
Here I sit watching
On a psych ward, watching, waiting.”

~ by Benji on September 27, 2014.

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