i have examined these intersecting lines perennially
like an obsessed accountant checking the figures unable
to stop knowing the transaction has passed.

this cheap simile runs like a hamster in a wheel because
it is the only way to move, although no change of position
comes of it. hanging in this place with no ropes i am a piñata;
come and burst me open with a stick.

every day the same argument: is this enough? one may be for
every seven no’s; and then the same train: so what if it isn’t,
this is all there is. this is all there is. my work is to erase

the traces i have made of this conversation. you laugh to
yourself, over me, you say, well, clearly this is why you
repeat yourself: due to forgetting. my friend, how easy it is
for you to say.

you see, i keep the record, as i’ve already said. Stop
being so vague! Ah, but the details are worn through
like all the boundaries i have worked to undo. Again,
you say: you see, you have made it so.

You are a lying…but i hate all the insults. None are good
enough, none bad…i am kind, it is the world that isn’t;
and if it is the last thing i do, i will not leave my kindness
as a gone-by childhood. And I am NOT a masochist,

do you hear me? I didn’t ask for this pain, awareness
is not always complicity.