A Million Little Pieces

me. I can feel blood dripping from the wounds on my face and I can feel my heart beating and I can feel the weight of my life beginning to drop and I realize why dawn is called mourning.

These things, these poems, these words, these meanings, they make sense to me. They do not tell me to do anything or be anything or believe in anything or become anything. They don’t judge me or try to convince me. There is no righteousness or pretension. They don’t fight me or insult me or tell me I’m wrong. There is no Authority and there are no Rules. They are just words strung together on a page sitting and waiting patiently for me to accept or reject them. They don’t care if I do either or both or nothing at all. They will never tell me I’m wrong. They will never tell me I’m right either. They just sit there.

I inhale. I feel the nicotine immediately. It doesn’t feel as good as Lilly’s kiss.

She leans forward and she kisses me. Though it is the same as before, it isn’t the same at all. It is more, stronger, weaker, deeper, quieter, louder. It is more, vulnerable, impenetrable, fragile, secure, unprotected, completely protected. It is more, open, deeper, full, simpler, true. It is more. True.

Don’t cling to comfort and everything will be comfortable.

The violence was unfortunate but the unfortunate was necessary. Sometimes skulls are thick. Sometimes hearts are vacant. Sometimes words don’t work. The violence was necessary.

Things like the fight allow us to dream, and take us away from here, and allow us to imagine what the normal World must be like and how normal people must live in it. Normal men would make plans with their friends to watch the fight. They would choose a location with room to sit down and a large television. They would show up. They would have some food and a few drinks before the fight began, and they would be able to stop drinking before they blacked out or became violent. They would have their favorite fighter. They would be able to talk and they would debate with each other about his strengths and weaknesses. They would be conscious enough to watch the fight, and they would cheer or groan depending on the outcome. When it was over they would go Home and they would be in a condition to walk or to drive, and if they were lucky, they would have a Wife to kiss or a sleeping Child to check, and they would go to bed. When they woke the next day, they would remember the night before, and they would continue with their life. Their normal, beautiful life.

I finish and I am happy and I am full. I stand with my plate and I look at the banquet tables there is more food on them. I don’t take any. I will resist my urge to eat everything I see, to eat myself into a coma, to eat so that I no longer feel anything, to eat until I’m beyond feeling anything.