comparison is carnage by another name

comparison is a pickpocket plucking joy from my handbag I have been compared to countless things and things that cannot be counted, or counted on mostly fair assessments of character only a handful of assassinations I have been an assassin. accused of killing minutes carelessly turning earth, looking for words to say the unnumbered and the unnamed it is ineffable and I effing hate it like a hangnail I cannot quit picking at the quick then dousing it in ethyl alcohol, or the other kind sometimes when I'm bleeding out from the ripped skin I watch it dribble down my guilty fingers into the sink with dried bits of fluoride still clinging hard drips that won't rinse there is never enough blood to fill the basin never enough origin in your story to cover the drips so I settle my savagery and rinse my hands of it letting myself enliven at the sight of my innocent, open palms instead of crying over a little gore, creating more horror