THE pedo philia BLUES

Why did I quit smoking?

The prophylactic rationale doesn't apply to me.

The world would be improved by my absence and my reluctance to watch it go is, at least, tempered by that acknowledgement.

I hate myself with the fury of a young Bruce Springsteen on an acid trip in Florida.

Not a coastal part either.

Somewhere inland.

Somewhere dry.

Somewhere that people like me go in search of trouble.

Are there people like me?

Or am I the only monster?

I don't have clothes that feel comfortable.

I need a bath in charcoal and a sauna in hell.

Goodnight Elizabeth.

Goodnight Chloe.

Goodnight Rachel.

Goodnight Sarah Jessica Parker in Annie.

Three Hail Marys, somebody tell me if I'm sleeping.

I would love to be sleeping.

I would love to not own flip-flops.

I would love a head that knows when it's done and forgets what.

I vomit and nothing comes up.

I rush and nothing comes out.

I pray and nothing comes through.

No signal.

Five bars. No reception.

I have a kind of curelty that doesn't burn.

Doesn't boil or tan or fade or rust.

It doesn't cheer or cry or smile or watch documentaries.

It won't try diet drinks.

It likes nice clothes.

It needs readers.

In the end, it will be fine.

In the meantime, pray for the things that make it grow.

For their gods don't answer or catch them on the way down.

May God find my soul and choke it out.

I'd like that, actually.