Night Sweats of the Misunderstood Man
Infact he had nothing, except fantasy.Others could hear the swish of his tail, the nails
as they scraped along the ground.
There was something unconvinced about his soul
as if it had an ever-mutating shape
and could walk out and come back at will,
come back with little bits missing,
unhelpful attachments, mangled edges.
He was living for the next drama.
Nothing could be someone and everyone
would one day be very glad to have known him,
but for now he was simply misunderstood.
Seldom a dreamer, but when he did he dreamt
of women who never spoke, the mindless beauty
how she could lap dance all over him.
His life a cruel joke. He bought himself broke.
He ate her raw, just because
and not because it pleased her.
Never his own fault, never sorry,
on, on, to the next..... a dash of smile,
a pulled-in tum, gladly stepping into the next scene,
the ringmaster of his own little circus act.
posted by Cathy @ 12:41 PM
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