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7:53 p.m. - 2003-02-25
im an alcoholic
a thousand drops of water - clinging to the ceramic walls of my shower. staring at me so quizically, the cyclops doctors prying at my my center. peeling me, the unripened apple, checking for my worm. my accusations slip off my tongue like apologies. and the clear comets, the scale model drops with insatiable hungers, aching for the nectar of my echoes, like blood to sharks, race to be the first to devour me. so i ask them, those doctors, staring at me, me, me in my coma - what they expect? and i tell them, i dont see their white coats, glasses, charts, or even hear their words. i told them so many times to leave me alone, because i was here in my shower, and they only looked like drops of water to me. i told them i was sorry for their expectations, but maybe my mouth isnt moving the way my mind thinks it is. maybe i should leave them alone, maybe they arnt really bothering me. maybe its my distorted view of myself through that mirror of consensation outside my shower that leads me to believe they must care. they have to, they are doctors. you are my doctor, right? you will find those pills i need, those pills that make it OK, those pills that quiet my voice when the rain falls. who am i kidding. a hair dryer thats plugged in, uses its elericity better than i do. what morality is beleaguering you, doctor? not everyone gets their shot of DDT. you cant have the patience for all of your narcoleptic patients. im sorry my sleep confounds you, but it comforts me. so im going back to bed. but dont kiss me. im sleeping. but. im not beautiful.

 

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