Work Text:
Bright white casts a shadow
And my shoulders are bathed in light
I can see his face,
A variable in the equation.
I find myself, on the bathroom floor
as cold tiles hold my hand.
What kind of person wears fake glasses,
One with no reflection, inside or out?
A concept, now living, walks around
One-man parade, seldom dabbles in drag
An artist, you see,
Clings to the canvas
as he would his mother’s hand.
“Philosophy hasn’t touched on this yet,”
My book says so.
“So what,” a little you shouts in my ear,
“We’re here!
and this coffee has never been sweeter.”
A pause.
“Life really is sweet, you know that?”
A spoonful of sugar comes launching at my head.
To help the medicine go down, I’m going to
know the dust-covered pill, inside and out.
The one where you can’t help but taste
that sharp little knife in your throat,
Looking who’s back in the audience.
You’re stuck with me, you know?
Because I’m stuck here with you.