17, a woman
Incredible wit beyond comprehension
On your birthday you showed me how amazing you are
Through the cheap plywood doors they wait for us
You, me
Happy Birthday
Your life, such a dream
No worries of the human condition, “loneliness”
Your friends, those people you know
So sure of how it had been, before
I entered the small one-bedroom apartment, carpeting beige and stained
only to find small hands holding cigarettes
Inhale, exhale
I could feel your rhythm
In their words they confessed to me
As if to redeem their damned souls.
What aura did they see?
What gesture proved me holy?
Punctured arms stabbed with satisfaction
Veins grow weary
Is this so amazing?
I read them like novels, each its own
while begging for my affection.
They healed as I glanced at their pages.
“I explore my mind with this stuff”
Ridiculous, pathetic
For a moment I saw them, rocked in dreams made by vivid captivity.
Attaching themselves to anyone who shows the least bit of attention.
The needles glitter important in their addict eyes
Those lines of cocaine form your thoughts, and moods you carry.
It whispers your name.
I do not hear its calling.
Invisible arms cradle you.
You are cheap imitations of those who have suffered.
They cried in pain wanting to die.
Reaching for salvation,
instead receiving what you can find, anywhere.
They did not look over their shoulders like a game of mimics.
The game you are all playing.
You insult them with your silly thoughts of indifference.
What they have done, what you are doing.
Delicious, tasteful, you are reborn
For a moment you’re sent into an illusion.
Everything is still.
The wind howls while you grow warm.
Words have no meaning they cannot crush you anymore.
Then - suddenly it stops.
The still room spins.
Now you see that it lives in you.
In your bones, the delicate coils of your mind.
And I ask, Are you done?
Are you done exploring your mind?