Poem Number 23191

666 lives

i have had my chances. and i do not feel sorry or sad. how do i know i have had my chances? i have had Good People tell me.
i was given many. given. allowed. had them bestowed upon me. blessed with them. thrown at me. rolled up and lit for me. cut up.
and i used them. it has been a hard cube to swallow. like bone dice. to realize. i used them and the people that gave them to me. now there has been a
shift. minutes and months go by. static. there is no more change or adventure or discovery. and it is not nihilism. because i had a good time. now, static.
no one asks why. i hear a lot of why everywhere, but no one asks.
i cannot start a story, true or fantasy. i am only good at the middle part. if i can get you that far, then i have you. until i have to make the ending. then, drifting.
my pain is not real. i fabricate it. just like i fabricate the past. achievements. places. i am indominable like this. and i promise only to complicate.
my finger that was broken was your neck that snapped. the tear that came to me was your blindness. my cough your cancer. my serendipity your destiny.
what it boils down to is only boiling from your heat. mine comes from a burned out half life. i killed the men-women who built the concrete dome around me.
i have had my chances and things have never been so swell. i went to a holy place with floating cameras and high ceilings and a woman touched me.
her hands were very cold.
nothing has happened to me unless you were there. close your eyes turn your head and i am gone. or i freeze. look back and i look at you. static.
allotted. the chips are not down they are just gone. my blood is shrinking and the married side has become alien. green and classified.
and i know i am there in mirrors. i will walk by. walk on by.

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very sad.
sg