in the shuffling madness

 

it was something, anyway,

a stray thought or a foolish idea,

a blind idea that being touched

would be enough to save you,

that being held would make me human

 

it was knowledge,

but it wasn’t truth

 

it was your father’s hands in all of

your dreams,

hitting or grabbing or gently caressing,

and there were never enough windows

when you were awake

 

there was never enough sunlight,

and the locks on every door

were broken

 

my words were

like sawdust in my mouth,

were like shit in yours, but i

couldn’t stop talking

 

couldn’t stop equating the

act of fucking

with the idea of caring

 

wanted you, yes, but

only if you were someone else