Brain Dead Vulnerability

Well, fuck.

Now I’ve lost all of my mystique.

I spent my whole afternoon

Cracking open my brain for…


No, I did it for me.

I needed to see what I really thought

I started to write

Thousands of words later

I feel like I said

everything there is to say

Except for what I meant.

The truth is, I don’t know what I mean

I don’t know what I want.

I guess, what I want, is to stop having to deal with this.

To stop having to be someone else

To stop trying to undo what they did.

I don’t like undoing what they did !

They should have to, instead.

I’m doing, it anyway.

I’ve always been

I’ve been profoundly misunderstood

By everyone, everywhere, doing everything.

Again, maybe it’s because I’m a man

Or maybe it’s because I’m the lamb.

I wasn’t ever a size 14, however.

I would’ve been to big for mr. buffalo.

Maybe he would’ve used me

As a coat?

I should be afraid of this, I ‘spose

Vulnerability, I mean

Not random serial killers–

That, would sooner be me.

I’m afraid of other people

They don’t know me at all

When I crack open my heart and let them in

I feel like I’m free falling

But in the worst way

I let the wrong ones in

I was given to them, at birth

They played hockey with me

And now I’m a cunty chipped-off puck

Everyone’s like


I’m other here

Daydreaming about death

Isn’t that what they want, anyway?

Humans are not good, I’m afraid.

I can’t trust myself but I sure as hell can

Trust me before I trust them.

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