I will be the teeth.

who was it who said that a fool was someone
who did the same thing over and over again
and expected a different result each time?
I can't remember, my brain is offline;
shorting out in a deluge of foolish tears.
with any sort of luck, it will remain waterlogged
broken, wires creeping, and unable to be repaired,
unable to fool me into thinking that
people can be good, honest, kind, when the say they will
all these little appropriate lies. (I am no better.
I expect and expect, and bleed like an idiot run through,
but would I be any different if I wore their shoes?)
it will not change until I draw that ultimate breath,
so perhaps that moment should be hastened
to arrive at some modicum of truthful kindness
mercy wrapped in void. but until that day
there is the paring of the skin, dragging the silver blade in,
forcing the nausea of pain out. (Gimme that ol' oxytocin rush.)
For after all, it is the most sensitive in the world
who hear the constant noise and cannot shut it out,
who will be eaten alive.

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