they love it when you've got a 'disease'
because then they can foist the blame onto you
and feel better about themselves

disease, you and yr disease
like you crafted it yrself
under a subtle microscope
with unsteady hands
and manic instructions written into the genes:
"destroy my life."
"make me unable to live."

as if instead of spending nights awake
uncarefully paring flesh with an art knife
(stealing stripes from tigers)
or writing poems that smile wryly at silent eyeless hell
you have been creating, carefully,
a way to make everybody else's life
a complete misery
dealing with you
disasters, near-deaths, and demands
you and yr disease

you heartless cunt.
you selfish, self-centered, good-for-nowt whore.
how could you be like this?
how could you do this?
you're so messed up. why are you so messed up?
I think
you do it on purpose.
a reaction.
you enjoy it, watching people hurt because of
you and yr disease.

so you go ahead.
drink yr coffee, read yr book
walk the dog, paint yr nails
sleep tight, love --
you go right ahead.
I will spend another long night
running from a Little Boy
and when I am rendered dumb by the EMP
and when the nuclear flash blinds me
and the fallout settles on me like malicious rain
and my own body eats itself screaming

you can feel better about how
I was the bitter one
who put the bomb there
in the first place,

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