Delirium

by Shaina

What I’m saying is I saw my reflection in a window, and I was a dog.  I was me, but I looked into my eyes and then at my face and said, “That’s not me, and what are these boots for?  I have feet, and that is all–these are so silly.”  And then I walked in the dark and thought, “I must be god,” and maybe it’s because I stopped believing in myself or needed someone else to believe in me; I’m not sure.  But then what I thought is, “I’m doing OK with the system I created”…that which is the begging for time, which makes it pass.  When you want to climb over the days, they loom longer, and there’s simply no way; you need a minute so bad that your chest feels like demolition, so you don’t get it.  And then this: oh, guy on the bus, you make me puke with your shrimp snack scent.  And it won’t, then, dispel.  And here I’m praying for a morning breath kiss from my girl when we wake from a night of drinking and she says, “wait–let me brush my teeth,” but I just laugh and steal all the kisses anyway.  But have I learned nothing?  The way to get around it is to pray the shrimp man will stay or to stop praying.  It might be me, anyway, the prayee, you know?  Or the pray prey.  What it is is nonsense, this needing game.

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