High-lighted Pages.

Okay, then –
fine;
in the spirit,
of saving time:
allow me,
please,
to admit,
whatever deeds,
that you need,
to claim,
as being mine,
well, Hell,
oh damn…
it’s all my fault,
somehow,
once again;
see my arm up,
see it waving,
see how much,
bigger I am?
Gods’ damn,
“Little Man” –
who designed
your B Plan…
as it was,
just because,
so stupidly,
you now stand;
all alone,
left to hold,
a Mystery Bag;
no trigger piece,
left on your hip,
and suddenly,
that tongue of yours,
doesn’t seem to slip…
maybe you,
don’t really know,
how serious,
how deep this goes,
the importance of,
your admitted love:
for being in control,
Red Flag,
hash-tag,
highlighted pages,
deciphered by:
all the ages,
with the exceptions,
in each generation,
of the ugliest spirits,
with the prettiest faces.

Painfully Red.

The very sun on my skin hurts to absorb,

the lids,

inside both of my dried out eyes,

like gravel,

the blood in my veins feels painfully red,

a curse,

a vastness before me –

a combustible finality –

the end,

the beginning,

the entirety.