draining's Diaryland Diary

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Ugly, 2004

UGLY

I.
As night falls, I feel its awful promise: in my darkness
You may smother. My crescent moon
Is a sheath knife with which you
May slit your own throat.

II.
Days are no better. I have sick dreams
Of the one I love
Pierced through by death
And sometimes, I want to try and
Join him.
The rays of sunlight
Are like operating table bulbs, or the light
At the end of the tunnel. Am I safe here?

III.
No. Will I be loved in the way I want to be?
Not by he who shares my sickness. I must
Find another. Find one who appreciates
Androgynous, elfin, blinking changelings.

IV.
I do believe
I am quite ugly, now
Or is it the night telling me so?
I�m ready
To talk about it now.

V.
It�s darkness presses in the windows
Broken shards of glass into my brain
In which I see my loved one�s reflection.
And who is that? Why, he is only a mirage
Created by too many conflicting neurotransmitters

VI.
He once made some music, but that was before my time.
He may as well be ancient. At any rate, he is gone.
And I am here.
Oh, you know, if you would just give me back that knife
And let me cut a little around at my temples and at the eyes
Everyone who isn�t supposed to be there would bleed out
And I would be healed.

VII.
I know better than to blame him, or You who is always next to me
Even though you are dead, too� but I don�t know better
Than to blame myself. For everything. For the holocaust awaiting our country
I foresaw it in a dream. Houses were burning, mothers had to choose between their children
And the others lay screaming, dying and rejected.
I didn�t know if I would live, in this dream

IIX.
I don�t know if I will live, in this dubious waking state
I am too ugly to survive here. Ugly because You rejected me so
Long ago. I have been beautiful since then, but not now, with my hair
Lank and limp down my back, with my eyes a shade of quenched fire

IX.
A million paper smiles surround me at the supermarket
Telling me why they are beautiful and I am not
I feel the weight of darkness pressing me closer to the ground
Soon, soon I will be buried

X.
The glittering stars mimic the glass splinters in my mind
Reminding me that I am not sane
I don�t deserve their calming bliss, do I?
I only notice wounds, not hearts and genitals
And eyes
I notice nothing
To be spoken of. Ugly girls don�t
Speak anyway.

1:20 p.m. - 2006-01-28
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