The voice said.
Like the sound of a cheap wooden screen door against its frame.
Like the sound of a child's voice coming from another room as a tape recorder worked in the 1960's, documenting something.
"There's a virus coming."
"Do you hold yourself back from spilling out over all of us for fear you'll fill us all up and we'll pop, or is that just all that you are?"
It had spoken before, the voice.
Bones age and internal organs slap and squeak against each other as we move ever towards decrepitude.
It said "Hello." once.
A BIG word, in a dream. A word that is almost BIG enough to end the dream and then is, following me into the darkness of the waking night.
Old, greedy people are screaming about politics. Psychotic with pathological rage, they stammer and steam themselves into dementia. The right will die of stroke and their children will load their weapons and buy huge vehicles with the inheritance.
All of the things no one can say bounce around inside of us, swelling us out, like steel balls in a tin sphere, every hit making a dent, causing a stretch.
Swelling.
I was sick when i came here, bent inward from the word 'special'.
"Hey."
Little words.
Nothing matters.
All so much theory and analysis and describing of natural systems.
Words are all.
Words are feeling is life.
i have tried to fit all of the pieces of everything that was handed to me inside of here but they all grate and tear like rocks.
only what was originally here can fit, other things fall away.
slipping, sliding out
wrong.
hated is hard to be.
i made a mess of every chance i had
to be strong and real
traded
for the safety of loud drunkenness
and the people i knew
drifted away
content in the feeling that they weren't needed
and weren't wanted
or maybe the inverse is true
and it was only
disgust
but i still hear you
mumbling under your breath
"omigod, fuck you."
but you can't kill me here
you can't stab me anywhere
i haven't already made a hole.
