I’m here because, in short, I lost. Or rather, my head is here and my body…well…
Can you see I’ve done my makeup? Polished my spike? I’ve worked hard. I knew you were coming.
I can’t remember what did it, what moment led to my reign over this soupy post of quiet rot, head here and body…well… War can be funny like that.
I bet you’ve forgotten all about it, but for different reasons. I hear you’ve got land now, cattle. That’s nice.
Had someone asked, I’d have preferred to’ve gone eyeless. Gouged out. Mashed to pulps. Fed to a goat. It would’ve spared me seeing your hair glint, your eyes shimmer, your arms pump and flex as you clop up the road. It feels wrong. I can’t cry for your perfection. I’m dead.
I suppose the upside to it all is my purpose: I’ve finally found one. I was pretty useless while I could still roil and ache and beat my chest. Breathe. Need. I am now very helpful: I’m a warning.
See my head as you ride into town? Aren’t I pretty? Aren’t you mortified?
The days this lifts we’ll flood the streets. Will you get naked, relish the air, lick the filth of Manhattan Ave? What a relief it will be, what a relief.
The day this lifts I’ll throw clothes in a bag – unthinking, blaze down 95 – unblinking, bang down the red diamond door and oh What a reunion it will be, what a reunion.
The day this lifts we’ll shake the proverbial champagne and spray. Will you take a sip for the occasion, get drunk on talk and warm bodies, fall asleep touching elbows? What a night we will have, what a night.
The day this lifts I’ll let him go. Or maybe I won’t. Either way, my heart will keep up the thaw and eventually What a Spring it will be, what a Spring.
The day this lifts will we be any different? Will you still seek deep comfort? Will I still conceal a dark heart? Will our minds be wiped clean like grime from windows in rain? What a test it will be. What a test it will have been. What a test.