w h y am i
c r y ing

you told
me
i was handsome and i said
thank you
for lying.

you were so kind
and so bright

sleeping means tomorrow
and i can't let that happen.

somehow i will master time.
somehow I will live in the inbetween

somehow this cigarette will last
forever

wanted: someone to **** me

i want a written proposal on how you'll do it.
slow or quick, brutal or neat, personal or impersonal.

will you touch my organs? be the last man inside me? will you play around with my gut full of moving parts? will you take ******* and dip them into the ****** glaze and press them to your lips to taste?
i might like to die like that. it might be easier to see someone possessing your physical heart. at least then it doesn't have to live inside you.

tonight is the first night i have truly felt crazy

and then i cry! oh do i cry! and it is written like this! oh it is written!

i am scripted and i follow it with solemn diligence. the lines of tears are angling down my face so precisely. yes! i am crying! and no one is coming to calm me down!

this freedom. this blissful terror of the waking and unsleeping, the unseeing, the unknowing. there is no kind hand to touch me, wipe me clean.
just the back of my hand, smearing and swiping.
no elegance, no beauty. i don't need beauty because i am alone.

and i am crying! choking sobs that are ugly and uneven! yes!

and then i am done. and i clear the thickness from my throat and i turn off the television and it is silent. silent and silent and silent. and i am basking in the perfection of my performance.

perhaps ill award myself with pills. maybe a drink. maybe both.

a actor needs his beauty sleep

intimacy & *** are two different things and i know this
because i have always had one without the other