BOOTLICKER

I am going to be an island.

2008-12-27

Read your horoscopes.

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It’s all falling off. Falling off all the bones. I remember when your skin used to be so dark, and when you spoke at me with all your conviction, crushing me into the earth, into the tiles, into the lino, your face became a living, breathing stone tablet to read. It just seemed so unyeilding, impassive, you couldn’t avoid it, not at that age, not over the noise of your favourite cartoon on the TV, not from the comfort of the carpet you clung to during those words, during that judgement. My utter confusion and fear during those moments, trying to decode what you were trying to accuse me of, I think you forced me to grow faster during those days than I ever have.

I hated you. I used to cry at night because you frightened me, because you taught me awful things which I repeated at school and got into big trouble. The things you used to say to me, I forgive you for all of them. You’re impetuous, I hate everything you stand for, every soul you crushed, all your ignorance.

Now you’re leaving me. You can’t leave me. I’ll, I’ll find a way - I’ll turn back time, I’ll invent a pill - I’m screaming, standing in a pool of you, trying to reassemble your body as your face, your shoulders, you just melt off your bones. Its all falling into the drain in the corner. I’m going to be sick. Stop this madness, this is like trying to keep all the air from escaping your body while your face and your mouth become so wet you stop whiping at it with your hands.

I won’t accept this. You still have to abuse everyone, you have to buy another car, you have to come with me to the Capri. Sit with us all at the round table. Please, just tell the lady I want the same thing as you.

We’re the same, I am you, and you are me, we’re both the same, all the tiniest strings and spiderwebs and all the sunrays and all the fishhooks are in you and me, thousands of knots. One tugs this way and that way and I can feel you from my house, from my walk home from school, from my chemistry class, from the sun on my back, all my burns, all my cuts…all my inside sores, I feel like everything I own belongs to you.

What am I going to do? I’m going to scour the soil and the dust for you. I’m going to be so lost. I don’t want this freedom. I want to be back there with my brother crying out of fear, and being told to shut up, I just want to watch you clean your neck and brush my hair, I’m going to die with you.