the snap of a plastic glove.

hello, love: today we are taking him apart.
we are going to dismantle his mistakes. make
sure not to look at his eyes; they're beautiful,
they can trick you, they seem ethereal and
true.

i say this all for a reason and maybe i'll tell
you when you're older. but maybe i will
tell you now if you do this simple thing for me,
this simple thing. take this, tape his eyes
shut because i can't look at them without
wanting to wade into a river and hold my head
under until i'm no more. nice and tight.

as you do this simple thing, simple thing, here
is my philosophy: everyone alters their actions
so that they can earn a place in heaven, but
they may do it simply to earn someone else's
tears. tell me that doesn't make sense; of
course it does.

i couldn't have done a better job, you're such
a good girl. such a good fucking girl. hey,
answer me this, look in my eyes and tell me,
is there something about them that makes
people want to stab me? an old college professor
once told me that i am sending people
subliminal messages with my eyes to deconstruct
me. he was a teacher of sometimes math,
sometimes on how to spread your legs wide
enough to get somewhere in life. that was a
course restricted for females, however.

you know, before the age of phones and
computer screens there was a high demand for
newspapers and eskimo kisses. i know this because
i wish i was there. i think you can take the tape
off his eyes, i'm okay now.

just make sure you do it fast, to rip off his eyelashes.
they were a particular weakness of mine; they
were gorgeous and curled just right. oh, well.