Tuesday 4/11/2006 11:28:00 PM

Moving graceless through that breezeway he called his personality I watched. Not enough stairs I thought. Wine not aged enough. Pink piss trying to pass for alcohol.

We are not intoxicated. Not in the least.

I dug my hands deep into his fists. Exactly where the X had been marked. I dug until the shovel fell apart. Only empty boxes have I to show for it. Bottle cap pyramids. So much glue. That stole my fingerprints. And songs that never used to mean anything so tempestuous now.

So ready to fail again. Reap the grief I have sown. Stitch by fetid stitch the costume comes into focus.

No need for masks. Other than the ones below the skin. Peel them away. Eyes and noses and chins. Unbraid the muscles. Reveal the skeleton.

Only an echo of the form I once took. Liquid bones spilling as I stumble closer to where I've always been.

I began killing myself so long ago. And have been haunting myself ever since.

Of the seven stages of dead, by now, I must be close to the sixth.


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