7. Irony

Irony


What I want to say is all messed up, all shot through
with bullshit and smeared dead with lies. It is that
love is real, but only for me. Want nothing
of it. There is little for you. Only here. This only
little line in the earth that makes that side mine
and this side yours.

If you saw me yesterday you would think I was lying.

You would see what I’m thinking by the way my hair’s
falling out. You would laugh and say I deserve it.
I sort of do. But only a little. You would say that.

I am so much more than this or that truth.

But what I want to say is hard to hear. Even for a boy
thick with his own tricks—even for you. I want money
and a hard life. I want the shakes and the death of a lover.
I want harmony still in it. I want hard things that make
me hard. I want cash and drugs I won’t enjoy. Mostly,
I want everything you want to come to me instead, no matter.
Love is hard too. But I don’t want that. That’s all I got now.