I will not be your fucking Hamlet your common denominator my mother despises me for having passed through her body just like all of the others that came before me, but in originating reverse. her father maybe my father. I will not pretend that i understand how nature chooses to evolve or, why i prefer the sun to the moon and a struck midnight, instead of a tired noon. all of this fighting is killing me, but i don't care, and either do you. insatiable appetites and definitions. my hands are shatter smashed into the faces of me, but on them and theirs. my screams paint the night a black that would roll your eyes back white and nauseate the most unrighteous toadie. We are all killers for our beast. When i was five, you didn't exist, but i guess you know me. and you, that other one. you only know what i let you. now watch as my words sink dimorphic and join yours forever, unconsoling. with your cute stories and hipped explanations accompanied by your hard earned 'college' text book oral terms Here are some more words for you to graph and get familiar with to weapon. 'material' for your future 'projects'. when i was raped* when i was sodomized** how i was abandoned*** when i was beaten unconscious by your various lovers when i was left with strangers in a strange land for weeks. they showed me how to touch me special and, that one time you super-glued the broom to my right hand, clever. How you are, with love, and the innocent. a real fleshy dynamo a natural leader with your skillfully painted mouth and coverup covering but i never babtised. that rare illness. my love given back to me by the people i was being a boy for. You beat me just right, bloody, for behaving, just a child. wake up, sheets stuck and dried red to the backs of my elbows "see that bird, Jeremi"? that's your dead stepfather "will i be a bird one day too, mother?" no, because i don't think you believe hard enough now, be a good boy and rub mommie's neck and back. Your father is in you i see him get used to visiting him in prison that's all it will ever be just a visit you'll be there one day with him, wait and see "Mother, why was i born"? "you're a version of your father and my father" that i can mannipulate in order to control myself, and you, for us. When they finally took me from you, ten months after the kidnapping. i was your you. your best minimal art, ever. the trench mouth whisper, you taught me, can drive a person insane sometimes both parties including the occasional nosey gawking bystander. The art of deception. yes, thank you mother. i lie so very well last week i convinced myself none of it ever really happened but...truly, my personal favourite? was, how you could disappear, and make me too. my heart for yours, a presage. *love **lovely ***loveliest