Something I am Not

Impartial use Dissuaded by the elements, And unearthly exposure to lack of gravity, Finding orbit around external, desecrated beings of this time space continuum. Fuck, With your eyes closed, mouth gaping. How much can you swallow without ever looking at the face in front of you? Sensational. Recreational. Unattainable. Parched? Depart from this body in orbit before you are snagged on its moon, Eclipsed by a passing asteroid, You will never be able to fill the void They carved in you. When will you stop trying? If you stop trying. How long before the echo chamber swallows your voices, And dismisses you. They’re hissing at you. Is rape and robbery permissible in the divine spools of passing? Will you ever look at water fountains the same? Fuck. Your own eyes behind bathroom stalls that carry the weight of scrawled teenage stories, How many sand storms would it take to erase the sharpie cacophony? How many new bodies will it take to melt the bruises from your skin, Or does that convert you into a permanent canvas for sailors who found the ocean in your gaze, Pivotal. Bridgeable. Biblical. Illusive is the par-tide whose image is atrophied by memory. Impertinence of being characterized only by the persistence of thought. Rock. Space dust, matter in the absence of matter Is it the absence of mattering to a being external of you, Used. Dirty. A friend treaded tile. If it is all I ask of you, Will you tell me what it’s like to be clean?