journal · poetry

A Sign

(I wrote this a few years ago. Warning: it contains strong language.)

“BULLIER
Tous les Jeudis Grande Fete,”
this sign reads to me.
Probably inflatable,
biodegradable,
like all these modern things.

I wonder

Were you the hand that held me?
Or the fairytale that drugged me?
Or maybe you were both.
But who could say? Who could tell?
When I was weeping in the water
and screaming at a screen.

I wonder

Should I bite the bullet?
Or load the goddamned gun
and shoot this miserable world
up into the flaming sun?

I wonder

Who are you?
No, who am I?
I know I am but who are you?
Where am I?
Is this home?
Not quite there yet
die alone?

I wonder.
predict it.
I wonder.
convince me.
I wonder

Why you wear me out.
Why you wear me down.
Why you wear me inside out
and you wear me upside down.

Ifuckingwonder.

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