… it’s a peculiar
state of being,
this
sloppy fury.
dress me up
in white silk
and roses.
i twist,
and
the thorns
drag across my skin.
blossoms of bright red
peek out
from the fissures of flesh,
and i say,
“ah! this is beauty.”

strip me
of my clothes
and adorn me
with entwining scars
by your hand.

as you assure me
of this
rigorous affection
and dig the knife
beneath my fingernails,
i will scream,
“ah! this is love.”

take a mallet
to my knees
and carry me
to the river’s edge.
leave me there
so i might
wait for the storms
to flood
its starved banks.
trapped in the muck,
i only can wonder,
“ah! this is kindness.”

wrap me in chains
and toss me
overboard.
as the sea’s tears
burn my lungs
and threaten
to tear me asunder,
i should think,
“ah! this is peace.”

… it’s a peculiar
state of being,
this ignorant curiosity.

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