I do not have
joy. There is a lightness that is
missing, has been for years. It is not a
person; it is not anything it is sentences I can hardly formed like a mutism
frocked in threads of stutter to attempt to form the breaching decay of
explaining the smiles I do have to mask the ones I do not. Sometimes I see the type of laughter or
rejoicing or feral unadulterated joy rampaging off lips so that teeth look like
rapturous predators wolverines of ecstasy capable of devouring the pittance I
can muster in a quarter of a lick. The
quick way as an amuse bouche to breakfast tempting morsel of a happiness
vacuumed crumb like in the nook of a grin manifested hourly for tourist
quotidian the way a professional furry costume of Goofy does at the mouse
palace in Florida. I can’t smile, not
the way I want to, just released because I need you. Whoever you are if you even exist I need
you. My battery has been left uncharged
for too many years and I need to plug into the current I was intended. It makes it worse that I felt like I met you
and all of them just bask in the silent boundaries of me numb to wanting any of
them because why, why would I want to embrace anyone who will only eat me
alive, morsel by morsel grinning in joyous rapture ear to ear.
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