emotions

are such shifty

things, dangerous desires engulfing their

rationality and so i

being the epitome of dignity

the citizen of consummate civility

suffocate them in satin robes of

mindless

control, and so i

shall ascend to the cold perfection

of the immortal deities

no

i am a mere

wreck, a wretched

soul so afraid of

emotion, of the very essence of human

delight

nothing more

than a robot painted with too much

cosmetics whose affection is but

skin-deep and still my afflicted

mind is hailed as flawless by the sinister

devils nestling within me

but if i were perfect, my heart would not unfreeze

on the way to school

become human, flesh, bone for one lovely

moment before giving a sob

of anguish and splattering on the sidewalk

for what could ever love

an android that treats people like yellowed

bird bones in a museum,

reeking of death.

because if i were perfect, girls would

not be porcelain vases, my words

erratic hammers, my speech

incoherent mumblings, normal conversation

a deafening crossfire peppering my self-esteem

with holes, and writing the single bubbling brook

carrying my thoughts into the indifferent

world beyond,

a brook soon to be dammed by the diseases within