i’m senseless, blood-skinned, raving
mad in my logic. i make too much sense. people think
i’m reliable. maybe i am. i shouldn’t be. i find myself
too lazy to pick up the phone,
anything but work. what’s

this? poetry, not really. what’s it
worth? my time? question
mark? what’s the criteria for
worthy
of my time? i am timeless! un-
stoppable! godzilla
on the page. i drench myself in words
by the hundred thousands, i crave
and i force and i drag and i read, write, bathe
in words. yet

payoff is key. what comes next. where was i
before, now. is point B better than point A. if not, it’s
too late. i may as well move on, but i can never
tell when’s the right time, how do
i move on anyway, what does it mean
to move on, get over it! drink in not only
Meaningful Words but the words
meaningful to me. how do i know
when it means something

to me? how do i know when it’s really me, and when
it’s someone else telling me how to be me, or worse
me telling me how to be me? how do i draw
the line between myself and supposed-to-be
myself. should i draw the line at all, or rather drag
myself into the other, or the other into me, let the lines
blur like melted ice cream scoops? does it
even matter? why can’t i

shred the page, drool till the words bleed
black into white till
i see stars! clocks with spinning hands and
messages written backwards, i count
the seconds until i don’t have to
work anymore. work more. i can’t
tell the difference sometimes, whether

play is work and work is play. monsters don’t care,
carnage is all they know, there are no lines
to color within.
we are all one. who am i to insist
on independence, ambiguity, self-
conflict as necessary, as human? it probably all makes

sense, the questions answered, by
a part of my brain i’m unwilling to respect, too stupid
to understand. i’m too smart
for my own good, too monstrous, too creative, too
created. i was made this way—by myself, of course,
alone, and by everything out there i no longer want

to control. i am timeless! un-
stoppable! godzilla
on the page. senseless, blood-skinned, circuitously
breathing and alive, dead
to my past self, my own dreamt future
creating and destroying.

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