valentine's day.

.valentines day.

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” he cries. Screaming and shaking. Jumping and schizing. Can’t you see me? I can’t see!
Right in front of my eyes, I must be able to see but I hear and I don’t see.
But I feel. Like I can’t see this knot in my neck. Lower back I can feel. I can feel. Fast.
Like the pulse of a beating drum. Attractive. Sweet. Jazz. Drummer. I can’t see tho. I feel. I can feel. Feel the frustration. But me? I’m a bitch.

A frustrated girl is a bitch but what is a frustrated boy? A hard penis teased by some bitch?
Hormonal harmony!!
We feel. Despair. Like we are not allowed. Who can feel? Certainly not us. Smog. Like this glamour. Attractive bodies. Hair. Breasts. What an attractive mess! I feel anxious. Nervous. As eyes wander. Paranoia. Over my shoulder to the blond. The red head. The 2 tall slender legs. Anyone. Who is behind me. In distance. In age.
That shit is HEAVY
Heavy like heavy circus rings under eyes that can’t see because we don’t see.
Like
I could not see that his eyes were blinded by what he feared.
“it’s only water, babe. It’s not gonna hurt you.” Tell me what you feel.
You must feel.
Feel the knot in my neck. Feel the neck of the bottle of Yuengling. The Black and tan. To wish you were a man. An irish man?
Then Tell your wife how you won medals down in flanders. And then Tell her how the IRA made you run like hell away or how I made you run away.
Have you felt your own jaw. Face lately. I can’t see but you can feel that pain.
He is only gripping it by the neck? Isn’t that the pain I thought he felt before?
And he will always do it anyway.
He is Timidity disguised by alcohol breath.


021402-cmchale