Apocalypse / The Book of Violation
A trigger warning
greater than the ocean
still cannot change
what I saw.
I wake up,
and think about the letters you wrote to seven Kevins and more,
and I want to throw myself apart
into fields where
I don't have to know these things
about people
who I loved.
I fucking don't want to
peer behind the veil.
To see what lies among
the projections you inlaid
like melting, scorching mud
into my heart.
I don't want to understand.
I knew enough
before this. Far too much.
But all extant psychoemotional data
suggests you were already a pedophile
when you entered my life, and used me as
I don't know?
A release valve?
A crutch?
Kevin Martens
seems close enough
to what I actually want?
You know who's the real Homelander here?
The person made of so much guilt and shame and fear
that each time he destroys someone else's future
he takes all the things he should be feeling about himself
and transfers them to someone else:
someone he calls bro. Best friend. The person he'd one day like to become.
Lay me down
outside of this reality
and take these memories of you out
of my screaming mind.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I can't dream.
All I find
is absolute and immense anger.
All I find is all of you
lying to me
over and over again
all I find is that
I never wanted to be no goddamn Dragon
and you can take your bloody cycle of time
and your desire to violate humanity body and soul and heart and mind
and go eviscerate some other person's life.
Spare me all of it.
I never wanted to care. I wanted the fucking privilege
of never having to know what lies behind the image.
I wanted to pretend everyone wasn't hiding their gay shame.
I wanted to live a life where I could get published without being treated like I have no name.
I wanted to vote for a government whose words actually match how they behave.
I never gave a fucking damn about celebrity and fame.
And instead
I lie down in a field somewhere.
There will never be enough rain.
Even though I am already stripped bare.
It is everywhere.
It is everywhere,
and you still expect something done about this planet.
I know, and expect
only Gaia's indifferent,
scorching despair.