Give Me All Your Pity And Your Money

All of it!

He has such a magnificent sense of color and composition and he hates everything that is nice that I say and I hate my strange mixture of awe and envy because only three beautiful things have ever come from me, and I'm not minimizing them but I just can hardly believe it, and I wouldn't if I hadn't been there myself, and even when I play an instrument, it is trite and cheap and weak and I am only parroting the parts, beauty come from someone else, from another time, another century, back when things were more beautiful and new. This time is the time, with one day leading to the next, stepping stones on a path to debt, to loss, to shame. Each one bringing us a little closer to our deaths, which is fine with me because my religion's afterlife is the Big Unplug, and I don't expect to feel a thing. Then you can be free play again. The love lottery. Scratch and see what's underneath. And next time maybe you won't get, "Its....! Its...! Sorry. Just one cherry." Something I lack and have spent my whole life trying to make up for. But I can't see you fitting together like a puzzle with anyone else but me. I suppose I lack imagination. Each time the curtain is pulled back, sunlight pours in and each time the faucet is turned on, the water runs away, and I am always reminded that you hold the earth in place for me and so I try to stay in character and respect the unmitigated power that is your bitching.


I will try really hard to get enough to get you to a place on this planet where the nighttime doesn't come so early as to make you suffer and the daylight doesn't shine so bright as to offend you.

Because I love you.

So so much.