“what became”, she says, “of those years?”
and i feel my eyes slowly pumping the boiling tar,
filtering into my throat like burned coffee
is it truly so inhumane
to desire the fall of another human?
the sky itself ennervating, salient fucker
gloating while i wonder silently
if my aorta has clogged for good this time
and i will regret,
and i will consider,
and consideration will remain my constant inquisitor.
outside of what i am stands a glass,
and on the other side of the glass stands the all of you,
but no matter how i tap, punch, gnash my teeth,
i remain as silent as that asshole on the other side.
no sharp suggestions
i can look at the sky for as long as i want.