badsleepwell

It doesn't change much, leaving your body behind. At least, it didn't for me. My thoughts still run off with the mouth. My current, more corporeal form remains as much of a mystery as my previous incarnate (like, where did I get this lifetime of scars? Who's genes did I inherit for the way I drink in bars? Which model did I follow to make myself so alone? Which parent should I credit when my voice hits certain tones?). It shore wasn't much moore of a disappoinment than any of the other traditionally ramped up happenstances everybody designates as spectacular...Hey! You're graduating high school! Say goodbye to all you've ever known! Yo! College is over! Time to enter the real world! Oh my gosh! It's love! You gettin married, boy! Whoops! You dead! Hope it was fun n all!
Down below, medics're pushing their way through the crowd now, celebrities with a slippery red carpet, ready to sign their autograph in blood and phlegm, mucas and broken bone shards. It's camera country now and open season t'boot. The self concious fled long ago and now the brazen, the bold and the bawdy pick away at the fleshy copse, filling their mouths with green and off they fly, cackling.
And what was it that led me here? How did my mundane and carefully selcted life options run right into this dead end? The show's just starting to unravel willy-nilly past my very absent eyes this ain't no bargain matinee, it's my life, you realize...
Roald and Kurt, sweaty palms and shit-eat grins pushed me over the window and out the ledge, discarding me callous, like a cat piss stained bedspread. All because I happened by the water cooler at the wrong time. All because I catch a few mumbled words while shifty eyes turnt skyward. I cared not a whit for their middle management mutiny. Not a whimple for their bloodless corporate coup hatching. But these snappy answers are never birthed by their stupid questions. They abort queries and breach birth idiot conclusions before term. They incite metephor medical malpractice like they name drop; oblivious, uncaring, repeatedly and staring...and now I can see their twin egos, bulbous and inflexible like needle suckling weight lifters, inured to criticism, nursing on my murder, feeding on their modest exercise in power. And that's just today. That's just this mourning. There's so much more to remember. So many moore doors on this regret stained memory lane.
As if I even care.
As if it were still my concern...