born in parts pieces pages they pass me around like a party favor label me their
collaboration exquisite corpse is more like it as they give me features focals dimensions I
can think but not speak the men laugh label me perfect
                                                          ly two dimensional I writhe on
table tops screaming inside myself intervals of seconds that feel like lifetimes
mostly because they are lifetimes diminished with each intervening hand that touches
My lines change, erode,
re-arrange themselves in prettier pictures,
framed by the mind that most
recently lays hands upon me.
I pray, first for an understanding pair
of palms that know the bleeding
of my misfortune, then later, for
two with the base visceral desire
for destruction, obliteration
Neither ever comes to fruition. I am their Frankenstein baby, all freak-show sidekick with laughter
following my every added detail. I become numb to their electric depravity. They shock me not
anymore. I am teaching myself to die, again and again. I am slowly becoming blank as the page I
began on.