I Stare at the Picture

I stare at the picture and it stares back. I look into it and it eats my up. I try to go
into it, but it spurns me and I feel sad because my picture is not mine. IT is not made for
me. It cannot feel my heart beat in time with its inability to move. I want to rid the
picture
pictre
and love the picture and read it. I read it
s silent wagons and frozen faces in time
that have long since turned to dust and yet they are still screaming for me to free them
but i am helpless and the horses sit there in mid grunt and for a moment they are happy
because the load tormenting their backs is stopped. I do not care about the horses,
though. I care about the people. The dead people. I look at all of the people and watch
then and know that they are all rotting. They are part of the cycles where people hold onto
their own by putting them in places where they can
t go back into the world. I know
these people are bored and buried and dead sitting in their little boxes knowing that
above them are starving children who cannot eat because their farmland is full of dead
people in boxes and the boxes won
t allow anyone to get their to their farmland to make fertilizer to
grow corn to feed the children. So is the fate of the world. One of them blinks at me and talks
to me and I am afraid of him because he is dead but not completely because he was young
then and he has not aged so he has found the secret to eternal youth mentally. He
knows that I am afraid and he is superior, but not really because I can burn the picture
and he will never see me except when I go visit him in his dreams, and my dreams and I
meat his parents and maybe will get married but probably not and he is still dead and it
is always my first time because I can never get used to being in tow places at once. The
picture is in my pocket and they are alive in the picture and then they are sitting across
from me and they are dead and I am eating them and I am looking at their teenage
daughter and I know she is dead and she scares me and he misinterprets my look and he
smiles because he thinks I want her, but she IS DEAD. The food is no good and the
conversation is terrible. And they smell. They smell like bugs and urine and shit and
death. Death is the deep smell that everyone knows is coming towards them but they
manage to keep ahead of it, but it will get them and they will end up like all the rest.
There are buildings too and once they used to be filled with things and drugs and people
and goods and horses and now they are all empty and gone and burned and they are
death
deat
too but they can
t talk so they are like the horses. I am desperate for some form of
conversation which is why I
ve taken up eating with dead people anyway. The wagons
are so white. I think they are white because when the were alive they were dirty and
filthy and rotten and now they are gone and there is nothing clean to compare them to
and so they look white and the window are gone and you can
t look through them and
when you eat with the dead people in the wasted land, you still can
t look around them
because there is dirt all around. Some of the people I can see clearly and they are
friend;y and they wave and
say COME
sayCOME
AND EAT WITH US OUR FOOD IS
BETTER
BETTE
THAN
WHERE YOU ARE and I say NO NO
I READ MYTHOLOGY WHERE THE GIRL AT THE
SEEDS FROM HELL AND THEY KEPT HER AND SHE ONLY GOT TO GO HOME IN THE
SUMMER WHICH IS THE SAME FOR ALL OF US IN SCHOOL. And they look so sad that I
want to eat with them, but I can
t. I can
t. I can
t. I can
t. I cant. I wish I could. BUt
I can
t stan it anymore. They are dead and I am alive and I can
t handle it. I am an
outcast and I am different and I am exploited and they will use me. They don
t love me
and they hate me and they want too kill me and they will call to me at
night and laugh at me and say have some canned salmon it
s fine fine fine fine fine fine
fine fine fine. And I say no no no no no no. Because I don
t want to eat the
salmon
slamon
because I
ll die and I
ll be one of them. That
s the hardest
part
to deal with is not to
become one of them. I try and try not to die and they just wave from the picture and
wave and wave and I cry because it;s so hard to stay alive. I hate them all and I
wish
wihs
they
d leave me alone and go away and stop talking to me and stop inviting me over
because I don
t want to anymore. more more
more
more
more
more
. LEAVE ME
ALONE. go away. and i whimper and cry and stare and the picture from my pocket.