Third and Fourth Eyes

Some days my glasses just don't fit. I bend and pull and adjust and still nothing looks quite right. Until I take them off. Close my eyes and look at what vision neglects.

We were thirsty. So what? Anyone would've been. Faced with so much desert.

We were famished. Fuck it. We liked the taste more than we needed the nourishment. So what? We hurt no one other than ourselves.

Guilt is just a franchise of religion. They use to sell morality to the trendy. Fast food ethics save no one from starving.

Some days I never wake up. I tick off the alarm and brush the blankets aside, but I'm still there in that bed. Trying. Trying so hard not to be alive. Right next door to death and it won't let me inside.

I could try to please them. Be more like, but why would I?

I twist and turn my eyes to try to see better, but some days a blur is your best friend.

Seeing is easy. It's what comes after that makes these calm adjectives my enemy. Listening isn't supplication, but that's how some will see.

I wade through the catacombs of castles long perished thinking I know the arc of the moats. But stumbling is inevitable. Especially when your eyes don't fit.

And somehow I remain intact through all those encounters with the crocodiles.

I don't know why.

Don't want to.