Antimonia

somebody else made our secrets for us. such a shame. we had no clever choice. but to live in
hiding.

i keep seeing the color green.

look how they have dulled our esteem.
imagine my surprise when
six years ago, when
my life had to yet
begin,
the fire growing decided i would not be worth
no high rise not doomed
to shame, and for shame, and because shame
and now all the goddamn names available to select and kiss
are just names set up
by ridicule.

we lure ourselves in. we think we need something because those things
are tailored for us.
so often they
slip.

i keep seeing the color green.

we all change clothingโ€“ some, better than
others.
some more comfortable.
and i had perfected it in the way where i
have lived a perfect line of lies.
and wore the same set of
shirts.

and my half-truths are half-given
vengeance.
and my wholeness had become
part of no caring system.
i willed it this way.

i weep as i wriggled in bed, almost dismembered.
how does one choose who lives on, who
flourishes?

but I keep seeing the color green.

admiration turns into fear in a
second.
how easy we
mistake.

i loved not many, only one, but that’s
prepared.
i was in hell and they sent me
demons i embraced. maybe i’m
part of them.
yes.

living in a world where we
no longer have agency nor autonomy
because presentation of everything is considered the fair thing
for the greater good, the defeat of the intrapersonal.

and the only way to poison the data
is to come up with stories so damningly detailed, they’ll be taken as
reality.
there is no need to fact check anymore.
everything is logged.
everything is written.

there are no cryings at your ten p.m.s that will go unannounced.
no, they are not just your cries now, they’re
the world’s.

we have to talk the same ways, be the same ways, look, perform, act, and play in the same ways.
if you bend your tongue different, you are pretentious.
if you do not feel like giving, you are cagey.
if you do not glide the way superb men have glided, wrangled and wrestled at the
edges of our gossipy nation like on a reckless rampage, then, you are not a man at all.

because we are all only to be taken at our surface levels.
and that’s good, if the surface level is good.
and it’s compensating if it’s not.
and it’s not for most of everybody, then it’s
just a clutterfuck of bad.

we are just meat, anyway,
yeah?
(are we going bad? i’m definitely going bad.)

i’ve never known a day when i could make love in all this
silence.
some of us only want
silence.

(i need to keep it. i need never react. if i flinch, i lose. if i spit at the crown unwant, i’m petty. but, yeah, you can put your brave free mask, same as the other children and it’s a regular work day. sure. yeah. why not that? i rebranded more times than our current time lords. who cares?)

i keep dying and dying at the color green.

but tractors, and race cars, and jet planes, race horses, they are just
as nimble as the crackers that run them, wise-dumbs as dumbasses that run them
the bored rejects, reaching, and wanting
for more, more, more.

to whom
i gave all my yeses.
i am as
complicit.
bit my tongue as games destroyed
what’s little left of the spirit. and the playgrounds, and these options,
these were my
sanctions, all
alone no longer.
these are everybody’s now.

they will never divine the carats of the
originals.

no, one cannot put all their markers in a single
suitcase, or move into
a different town making different ways to pay
for different homes and a different life style.
that’s not sanity. that’s escape.
which is, at this point, would be
the very definition of sanity.
it’s a cruel thing,
really.

the only way to win is by never dropping the cup.
the only way to turn the tables is never to have been near the tables.
but all our decades, they never went with
handbooks.

we were selfish as children, and even louder-ly selfish as forming adults.
of course all our teen movies revolved around characters rebelling and being cool.
not listening was cool. not caring was cool.

maybe the gods somewhere decided in the
spinning disco afterglow
how the world doesn’t need
people like me.

would health be enough payment? my death
for a check out?
would we need a martyr that would end all martyrs?
or do we just have to get everybody off because that’s where i should be good at?

surface level me is the only existing me.
everything else, channel turners.

i don’t know. we’re all bored and i
tried and played to win.
really disappointed with the lack of ethics at this point.
mostly mine, mostly mine missing.
we might all just be a bunch of fools but at least tell me
it was worth something. at least tell
we got interesting.
i want to ask if it’s worth it
but my resolve wouldn’t allow me.

we don’t live in a world where respect was ever priced.
it never were.
our parents were right to fear raising us
but were else could we be raised? (not outside the islands, of course.)
we killed because we wanted
to hold what’s no longer available.

i do not know everything.
no, i do not.

I still keep seeing the color green.

look what they have done to my eyes.
were we right to admire self-harm?
i wished for all to be smiling but we backed the wrong dogs.

they are not the real things, and i am just
a walk of entertainment.
and my best way to put on my best show is to just
push forward while souring
and regarding
and commenting
on the plot.

(but the vapids are as vapid as vapids are vapid can be.)

hope one day, this
fascination would die out.
diminish.
but what would that be like? a day when we’re not
with our workarounds
for breathing.
they all are most likely
to outlive
me.

shame. it all could have
worked
if people just knew
how to let people live
their own silverine ways.

(still, the vapids are as vapid as vapid is vapids can be.)


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