YOU HAVE A DEATHWISH, is what they say. The air surrounding you is hot and your clothes itch against your skin. You wish you knew where you’re supposed to scratch— you wish you knew how to make this go away.
EAT AND EAT ‘TILL YOU GET SICK
You have a death wish, but that is what the people want to see. Not many men lay their necks on the line like you do— not for simple entertainment. They would never understand the lengths you’ve gone to run through burning buildings, crawl out of submerged crates, walk on telephone wires, and so on, and so forth. They would never understand why you’d want to— why you’d risk it. DON’T YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO LOSE? HAVE YOU GONE MAD?
They would never understand it, but oh— oh they’d love to watch it.
FEED THE HABIT LIKE A BLOATED TICK
ARE YOU LISTENING, is what they ask. Their chins tilt and you think these two wouldn’t get it either. Instead, you have to smile, a crooked, yellow thing. Your lonely, lamplight eye would burn with a spark kerosene couldn’t even compete with; consuming.
I WOULD DO IT AGAIN IF I COULD.
