I Was Once.

Dear Whoever,

Once there was me; a finely plaited body,

Once I could never hex this Pius body into sinful manifestations –


Now what is sin?

Me and my body?

Me and the soul nobody can understand where I stole from?

What is a body without language?

What is language without patted understanding?

Why am I unable to settle my worries on time’s hunch?

Isn’t that it’s appointment? To straddle my worries through,



A fitful preinduction.

What is this body you cannot see beyond this bright, obscene aureole it stands beneath?

What is this body just in unaligned production?


I was once the things you dream of,

The words; good and authentic from your lips,

A part in cracks,

A part in plump.

I was once right.


Like you know what that means.


My girlfriend wants to know why I do not have a girlfriend,

I tell her of the unquestionable nothing that I feel,

She asks me this again,

She looks at me with her razor eyes,

She has that word on her lips,

I want to help her confirm it,




You are sick, she says,

I am sick?

What is sick?


Keep reboxing me,

Keep refixing the souls that beat at my tempo,

Keep seeing short, clipped and righteously malevolent.



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