The cruel ghost of desire has gifts for me.
Safety pins that push into my skin, like all the everybodies who have somebody special.
I guess I do too, my lovely needle skinspikes.
They are the only things holding me together, just like everybody else’s bloody somebodies hold them together.
I am a weak, bleeding Frankenstein ragdoll, limbs with no direction, and the living mist inside me is torn between fury and contentment.
The pins are stinging.
Elegant spheres of blood drip from my body and land on the floor, as if in slow motion.
The floor is always wandering and ever-changing.
It is concrete, sand, train tracks, and carpeting…
I wonder sometimes if other bodies grow out of these feelings and destructive desires, or if theirs just melt together with their special somebodies?
I burn and boil, and my special spikes glow red.
Is this self-awareness?
Everybody loves and transcends with their somebody specials.
My pins begin to widen and twist like screws..