People always say they want to disappear, what do you say when you never wanted to be here in the first place. People say they don't want to be alone, I'm schizophrenic, I am never alone, ever. You have some useless gift of chin-wagging, writing filth, the scarred scrape of a petite pen and the sadness it creates, chew marks, God's goodness always appears in strange places, the sorrow of her face, fireflies blooming and illuminating in the dawn like evil torch bugs and exotic lotus, it's permanent, people should be more willing to curtsy and weep, to mourn the following days before the sobering rainfall, spoken in an unknown tongue, the clouds look like bloated bladders ready to burst, an immense stomach of some damned being that was cursed to be in a sky-prison for its crimes, crying forever, its universe darkens, clouds explode, the teary ashes burned into the red brick steps, the clay-colored concrete and bloodred mud, pour water on my face to name me, do not close your eyes, I will not close mine.