I need to gag and
rain is slumping down
the windows of the
train and when I die
I'll still be on
this train a ghost that drowns
in words if someone
talks to me I'll cry
or bite I fiercely
wish like every time
I breathe dear world
don't make me leave the house
I hide beneath my
seat I hide behind
my face and at the
meeting someone shouts
INSPECTION TIME!
and eager
fingers lunge
to
rip
my clothes
and peel my skin they
tug
my
nerves right out
and
pluck my
guts
and plunge
beyond the trembling
meat of me to lug
from out the ghost
that speaks before I speak
whatever shrieking
need is lodged in “me”
AW
The Son of Man - René Magritte
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