December 19th, 2007

i have made a really good decision about what to do when it comes to looking at your hands. i'm going to cry more tears over this dialect of dejection, more tears over someone who doesn't have your name. your disposition. your memories. your plans. who came years before you, in waves of cocaine and brotherhood. who had the possibility of loving me, keeping me, monopolizing me, but didn't. and thank god for that misguidance. thank god for unpinning my wings. thank god. thank, you, god. thank the god i lost faith in when you threw your fist too close to my nose. thank you thank you thank you. thank you for always punching the wall, next to my left ear, every time. thank you for tearing it apart when you threw it all at my ankles, thank you for always burying me too far down, thank you for deception, thank you for nose-games, thank you for choosing white mythology over me. thank you thank you thank you, thank you for the lines, the sweat, the sorrow. thank you for never touching me with those hands. those filthy fucking hands. the hands you put through your television set when that electricity died. my bloody knuckles. my bloody fucking knuckles.