Misanthrope

This is something I’ve been waiting for: to be flaked away like a soft rock, to fall away until someone picks me up, thinking me beautiful like neglected treasure, holding me too tight in rough hands and breaking me again. There is light to be found here, flashes on the walls at night, or maybe someone just left the TV on again. I lay in the middle of the road all night but nothing happens. God doesn’t want me. I pull the toaster in the bath but forgot to plug it in first. God doesn’t want me? My mind is like water-- I can hear it swish around up there like a stagnant pool, rotting, waiting. I flake off in his hands

because he thinks he understands me and I let him make me bleed because I think its what he wants. We smoke cigarettes, putting them out on our arms, feeling charmed while we watch the sun rise behind the skyscrapers. The sun looks like fire and I hope we burn.