Paper

Through my heart
is the entrance
To that doorway over
There.
Can't you see it?
Of course you
Can't:
It's only a cliché
Don't worry.
Look at the lines
How thin and pretty
Just like the girls
Who are thinner
And prettier
Than me:

Except I don't want
To be judged
I can pound this pen
Into this paper
As long as I want
until it drips with
Ink
And the words
Have become
Sweat droplets
That reek
OF a stench
That only I can
Remember.
A dull thud
And a loud
Scratch
Are the noises
I make
With my pen.

I shot through
My own head
And patiently
Waited
for the blood
To drip
Down the wall
And I write with
that blood
And it doesn't
hurt anybody
Else.
But I still
break inside
with the
teenage
Boys
I FEAR THEM
And the teenage
sex
I LOATHE IT

And the way
fat feels
squeezed
between
The palms
Run,
Cause I can
smell it,
The clickety
CLANG
of your car
keys
And the
bongo drum
beating of
your
buttocks:
One knocking
Against the
other in a
sickening rhythm.

Seeing it makes
Me think
of death
and rot
and one-year-old
corpses lying
in my double
Great
Grandfathers grave.

The smell and the
tang of
your crumpled
notes and your
trash pocket
change
with the
sweet acidic
melting
cold
hatred
That I feel
bubbling
Can't you take it?

Feel the war
mongers
reach out for
you and
pull you
in,
wriggling and
gasping
like a fish
with its legs cut off
I want you all
To die
sometimes
just because
I looked at you
And saw the rhythm
of your boned
clacking together
And it made me
sick
And fat.

You gave me
my paper
Leave me
Alone
To bleed on it.