Petty Harms, Easy Deeds
oh sweet, sweet mutilation
i feel for the ones that know not your ways
carried in throngs of masochism
you need not know of the devil to know easy deeds
cut, slice, wash petty harms
some new kind of knowledge through some kind of lust
cry, sweat, piss pretty waste
there's no truer art than the art of outraged disgust
i'll haunt for shock value if they bury me in censorship
so just cover me all up before some drone short circuits
forgetting their becoming
all in spite of what they became
so tell me one thing
no two
are you easily harmed?
do you get queasy
at the sight of blood
or sharp objects?
do you quake
at the mention of
abrasions and slits
and gouges and sutures?
or are you
just as i may always be
dead eyes that see everything
oh sweet, sweet exasperation
in the act of infidelity
you wince at the thought of affairs
yet you weep over petty harms, easy deeds
(no, i don't "cut," i'm just trying to bother some people; maybe you're one of them.)
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