I am become a carnival of starving lions. They’re not sure what color my eyes are, but they paint me blind. Then they say I’m no good anymore, like a broken toy that doesn’t bring in any joy to anyone else.

They look at me like I just rest on the shelf, coils springing out the sides, stitches open, shoes lost in the sandbox.

They would look the other way if I confronted them about it. So I don’t, and I tell myself “remember you don’t really care”. People are poison.

And well, the other poison is poison too. Give everything up. The only way to win is not to play the game.

The junkie tilts his head back and dies.

Rest.

And from the ashes come s a clean paradigm: to live as if it never happened. They won’t notice.

But she will. In the land of dope fiends, the clean behemoth is king. They won’t crown him. But she will.

The world may never be mine, but if the poison washes out, she will.