2007 - Vol. 4, Issue 4

"Death By Numbers"

It's a trick with numbers

I make everyone outside disappear
I start with the ground zero of reality
And count furiously towards the infinity of outer space

I cling violently to my world of digits
They will lead me to safety
I see no one
I hear no one

Existence consists only of numbers
Growing in a vacuum

142,143,one–four—

BAM!

He seizes my wrists and twists back hard
My mother and the social worker watch in horror
And do nothing

Numbers are no match for my father
There is no realm of my universe
That he cannot invade and possess

But that is all in the past
Now I only count backwards
I'm just a few numbers away from solid ground

The last time I saw him
He was way up past one thousand
Trapped and alone in the stratosphere
And still climbing

"NORMAL"

It is sticky summer

The eighteen–year–old receptionist wears long sleeves
to hide the slashes covering her arms
Her nipples harden and blood rushes to her face
as the wavy–haired artist
in the tight skirt walks past

She looks down in shame

She thinks she will choke to death
on her perverted thoughts
on her disgusting, fat thighs
She wishes that just one thing about her was
normal

She looks forward to lunch hour
when she will gorge herself on cookie dough
and use the razor blades in her purse
to make neat cuts
up and down her arms