The Abstract

So where's your insight now that I need it?

Chasing brake lights through the drizzle. Like sad eyes at the backs of their heads searching for what they've left behind.

It's easier to walk. I get there sooner when I don't try so hard.

Sound means more to me than smell. Voices. I remember them all. Can play them back like recordings in my head. Voices are people to me. How I recognize them. Because sound is so much more trustworthy than sight.

Sometimes it feels like I've been holding my breath so long I'm not sure if I've ever used it.

We're all patrons of self-destruction. Clapping so loudly as we watch ourselves up on the stage.

Smothering in curtains that refuse to close. Cheating the dialogue in favor of the costumes.

Life is never so abstract as when I try to listen.

He gave me a good long look and then he left. All I could do was let him.

I plunged the needle into the blister. Expecting blood.

It's not the pain that hurts. And it's not the healing. It's the afterwards. So much dead skin that doesn't remember how to feel.

And I want to.

Feel.

Something.