loathing

I have never dabbled in subtlety, nor have I dipped into the inkwell of meaningless covered bridges of bright coloured words.
Perhaps this is why I stand alone.
Each dance is at my own pace; each meal is at my own leisure.
I am not merely black or white, yet gray does not clothe me either.
Instead I am draped within my own coverings of self delusion and
enduring attempts at proliferating genius.
The mirror holds truths that each eye morphs for the stomach.
Oddly I still retch.
Rip the flesh from me and the remainder would be less repulsive.
My tongue defies, defiles and decries me with every lash.
I pocket these thoughts of self loathing for now.
Duty calls.
I have a façade to upkeep.



-j.g.smith (10/26/08)