My truth is distorted,
and much smaller than yours.
Forty days and forty nights
I had to pound it with a hammer.
Now there's a universe in my head
that might come true some day soon,
misshapen just enough
to be crammed in too tightly.
You're a figment of my contentment,
I know how not to know you,
and I can think up your life
a lot worse than you're living it.
Wipe your feet on my blindness
before you get the hell out of here.
For crying out loud,
just look at this filth.
Please visit on occasion.
Please believe me when I lie.
Please bring a six-pack of sympathy.
Tell me you love what I despise.
And give me my due
when I say I'm fucking sorry.
I don't know how to mean it,
but I do have this hammer.



4 old applause
