To lonelier dine

The recline here so bothers
the muscles on my ribs
I must travel elsewhere,
and you may take my joy
in the rabid decline of my boyhood.
I read people like books,
yet, they pause my eyes
for a looking over and I
cannot bear their upturned sighs.
I will while conscious therefore
bear door to door an excruciation
of what I would bear door to door
if I could withstand the rot,
the urge to explore and be adored
withstand the yearn which rots me so
and will rot me until I let go.
In such romantic thrift I wonder
if others nod off in their glow
or if they recede into panic,
like I must, and do, in the seizure
of company that glues me so
to strangers instead of friends
who would rather have me dead than lend
me their company for one moment,
would rather me dead than amended,
and I can only fathom the sin
which delves into me and I into it
as if moaning in my skull it had opinions.


~ by Jeremy on January 7, 2011.

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