He sits with his sickly sewn face,
My eyes turned up backwards.
It's not him, I know him.
But hell, I'm imagining him.
Behind his shoulders,
The frozen tv is watching me,
Like a daddy who never said anything.
Two eyes, too wide open,
Too, too true.
There's a crown, yes,
It doesn't see anything good.
There for the catch.
Spoons don't spoon them out,
I planted them in his bones.
Why didn't he stay?
Because he was in pain.
Don't hold his breath?
No, crush it.
I'm off stage,
I'm under there.
Between the wires and the plugs.
My flesh pulsing in the background whispers.
Waiting there, watching myself disappear,
In high definition.
R.L.J.
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