Some days I rushed home to check the mail in case you sent me something, but you never did and once, for a second, I was mad. I shook my little fist at the sky and made cruel pronouncements about the universe. You must have a great, obvious reason that is beyond me. Upsetting, offensive me. I cause such havoc. Or do I cause you to read my horrid letters at the campfire so the kids can have a laugh? Isn't it petty of me to ask? Isn't it so pathetic of me to wonder? To say such terrible things? I guess I'm all those things. I'm shedding my skin like a snake, leaving this scaly shell behind as I slither on.

A snake I was as I stood outside a cabin naked and shivering. Inside the cabin was a naked woman-girl. Full grown child, twenty-one with hopes and dreams out of a Barbie commercial. She was on the bed, curled up, ready to sleep. Or maybe she was awake and wondering why I was outside. I had just used her horribly. I made love to her and closed my eyes and wished of you. How could she know? She never, ever will because some lies are medicine to a fevered ego. Inside that cabin her moans and my moans meant different things. My heart was crumbling because no matter what you or the rest of the world says, IT MEANT SOMETHING! Nobody feels pleasure or pain without it meaning something! Even pretend games mean something. I know because she pretended just like I did.

But who cares about heartache? I'm sure a lot of young girls feel that way when their horrid boyfriends just had them in the sack and an hour later are bragging about it to their friends. Those little girls feel used and cheap and even though they brought it on themselves they deserve some pity too. Oh, little girlie, what does it feel like to be a woman? Finally, you've made that bastard love you and you've got him in your heart just like he just got you. Nice finger twirls and eyes blinking moist, I love you, I love you.

I'm only a little boy but I know that she didn't love me and really, happily, how could she? Do you like my kisses? Your friends tell me you do. Do you like the way I touch you? They told me you do. Those confidential friends tell me everything and once I was proud but now I feel cheated. I feel like those girls and I'm no smarter than any of them. Have a nice day, come again, enjoy your meal. I never told her this because that would be mean. I told her that I felt the same way that she did and now we can both be liars. I never told her that I cared nothing for her. How could I? How could I be one with her and the truth known? That she was nothing to me and I'm just like all the other boys. I never even liked her, and I slept with her. What makes it all so funny is that she never liked me either. Sometimes we talk on the phone, and we laugh because it was all so silly. In a way, in THE way, we were two callous souls without shame, without guilt. We were meant for each other. We still laugh, and laugh and laugh, to wipe away feelings real and otherwise.

Our cold laughter can be anything in this deaf world! I'll scream for the deaf and pout for the blind. I'll beat my head bloody against a statue of myself. I built the damn thing, with little notches made by a clumsy chisel. Once in a while I'll try to sculpt myself, but the clay is unworkable. It's old and cracked and hard. Add some water to that shitty clay to make it soft but it takes more and more water to purify and when enough has been added to the mix, there's no more clay. Just a muddy puddle for me to wallow around in.

Oh, my sister-stranger, how mendacious I would be if only you'd have given me a chance to eviscerate myself at your feet. Steel plated sandals on a rocky beach kicking at me. My God, it could have been so poetic if you're into that kind of silly pentameter shit. I've got a big bullseye on my forehead so if you want to take aim, then you could kill me and be done with it. Do the world a favour and I'll cry my deathly tears at my own funeral. I'll write my own eulogy of lies so they can all scratch their heads on the way to the promised mall. A land of milk and honey and huge boxing day sales that last throughout the year. What fun! What glorious fun it would be!

Fun! Have fun for me dear. Hum a happy song for me. Love your man and be blissful for me. Forget for me. Because I can't. I won't. I just have too much to do and I can't take the time to forget.

I can conveniently pretend though. I can say that I'm not empty yet. I still have to purge out some more drivel until the water runs clear. I heard an old man singing a love song. I saw a baby crying. I felt a cool wind caress me. I've lived days and months and years in fog, reaping the chaff.

If you like, you could put on a record that you like. Drop the needle down on a scratchy song as you read this. I want it to be my own song to you. I want it to have a chorus that says something sweet and bitter and have highs and lows just like real life.

Because here, on the left side of reality, is a slogan that sings. A cliche that curses. Greatness courts failure, greatness courts failure, greatness courts failure. The courtship is over. Greatness was a coy girl, batting her eyes and inching up her skirt. Failure is a sailor, battling the winds and doing deeds of courage. The two meet in a steamy port and Greatness tries to retain her virtue but Failure is a brute. On a bed of nine to five he rapes her, and she becomes a harlot. She is given a new name and a new song. Now the boys call her Average and she piles the make up on thick to fool them. But they see through the fraud and the proof is in the pudding. When they pass, one after another from her bed they have a tattoo in bright reds and greens that says they have conquered.

She is my mate. She has taken me, as others have taken her.

What other truisms shall I tread upon to make my point? What is my point? Blending the literal with the figurative can make it a sharpened stick meant to prod the fat and lazy. No! The sloths can rest easy and name me as their brother, for I am the enemy of none. The sides have been drawn and if you wonder who I am; I'm the one with the white line from forehead to crotch. Left side and right side have come to meaningless dust and I'm covered with the powder. It chokes my lungs, and a shower of acrid air pours out. Failure raped Greatness and she bore him a son named me.

What silly aspirations I dreamt of. I dreamt of victory through wit and arms, by Grace and Divine Appointment. My armour is ragged linen, brightened by bleach but spoiled in the wash. You were a dream, and it was your own beauty that brought it on. You cannot blame me, Lady Anne. Every line, every feature, every curve. You cursed me innocently, blindly. I cannot hold up my tattered banner in honour or point a finger anywhere except to my own breast.

The fault is mine dearest. Obsessive, compulsive...I'm so glad no one will ever know this. You most of all. I've said my foolish words in unanswered letters. Letters that told you what a weakling I am. Words jumbled together to form incriminating sentences that scream out a shameful truth. A truth about a boy who was petty and selfish and hated when he should have loved. A boy who made mistakes and added to them with each paragraph he wrote to you. I can't even remember them all. Sometimes a line or two will jump out of a tortured, fever driven mind. Then I'll cringe. My eyes will shut tight and wish the truth away.

No, I never wrote you. Can we make lies true? I never thought about you. Wouldn't it be nice? I never dreamed a dream. Is that possible? I was the strong one who just stopped making a fool of himself. Can I turn back time? Can I get out a big eraser and expunge the ink and your horrible thoughts of me? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can you?

Well it doesn't matter. It's all in all and all is mist. It's a mysterious pain that creeps across my chest when I think of you. It's joy at the thought of every one of your words. It's memories! It's a song taking you back. It's a smell and a taste and the wind carrying me down that famous lane. You live on my street evermore and I visit you far too much.

Did I tell you about love? Did I ever bring it up? My cheeks would have burned crimson if I did. The wonder and the power of it. I could have shared all that with you and you would have laughed. My knees would have blistered and bled, and your laughter would have been a song, carrying on eagle's wings from your aerie in the sky. But I didn't. You are far too unapproachable and the distance from my knees to your laughing lips is measured in time and space and the universe is a coffee cup in comparison.

My words, my stupid words are borne on the shoulders of folly. The rain makes the earth worms grow and the birds feast; all because we stepped on a spider and ruined it for the rest. I jump over cracks to save my mother's back, but she's still bent over with age and care and a son crippled and sad.

But let me tell you about a daughter, fit and alive. Let me tell you about that girl. She is a classic beauty. She is divine. When she smiled at me I wanted to die so I could face heaven with that image before me. Her casual good morning was an ode to happiness and her wave goodbye at the end of the day was the saddest endings to all the saddest books. The stories where the heroes die and only the ogres and trolls under the bridges live happily ever after. She is a sunbeam, and her light shows up the dust that drifts around me. She is you and you are divine.

But I am mortal.

I am temporal man and there are men despised and revered. Men who view women like a kind of prized beast. It is the promiscuous and the chaste alike who have special labels for you. To one, the worthless five cent candy and trophy case memories. To the other, a symbol of success and acceptance. I am neither but it helps me not for I desire so much more. I am the worst of the lot.

Speak to me and tell me a story. Make it a fairy tale that has no morale. Make the hard and the cruel go away. Tuck me in and be my mother. Share a laugh and be my friend. Kiss me and be mine. Give yourself to me. I will be a worthy steward of your soul. Give me your trust on top of it all.

Wait, no. Don't give me anything. I couldn't handle the debt. Slurred speech pronounces debt as death. I guess it's the same thing. I can't accept because I can't give. I can't give because what if I laid my heart on an altar and none accepted it because it was worthless?

I'm mute. I'm screaming and there's nothing but silence. I'm dying here, you heartless non-entity! I thought my scream could pierce all those stupid clouds, but I'm covered in moss, in dripping fog, in evaporated tears.

In this earthly mess I stretch out a hand to you. I try to pierce all obstacles to touch you. With that one hand searching wildly the other clutches my breast in solemn oath. I pledge a thousand deaths for your love. My heart cries mournful, tortured tears because you are gone. Because you are so far away and I never knew you. I never took the bait and never offered any. Let Heaven bear witness that I would have loved you like no other. Suffering no harm to come to you, I would have protected you. Stealing sun from the sky I would have given you warmth. I would have pulled clouds down for a blanket. I would have ripped up the earth to hide you. I would have built a pedestal that reached the peaks of Olympus and dethroned Venus with your image.

All this I would have given and yet I know that these pearls would have been ground into the dirt. So I relent and dream no more. I wish you Joy and send you mine as well. I imagine your hopes. I can only imagine because I know them not, but still I hope for them. May your needs be met and your desires granted. May everything bloom in your garden and may all of creation soften under your touch. Everything that I cannot give I wish for you and close my eyes and will not speak again.

So I relent and dream no more. So I relent and say good bye.