Yes, I Do

You wanted to be loved, so you spasmed out an unlocked zipper, always shining to the world, like the glint off some frumped lady’s diamond everyone can gather around and seethe green over. You wanted to hate so you accidentally ran into doors and lamps and started throwing rocks into the river, but that escalated to keyboards through computer monitors, laptops halved, car doors keyed, wooden front ones too, once, you even burned a pentagram into a stranger’s couch with the cherry from your cigarette before throwing rocks and milk in his pool. You wanted to be problematic so you told people you loved them and then didn’t, because problems are change and it’s easy to change, so it’s easy to cause problems. You are a crushed, empty beer can on the handrail of a second-story porch that the wind will knock off the next time it gets cloudy. It’s cloudy today and you want to spit on the woman without a jacket because she won’t notice the lugie between drops. You wanted to be on the Internet. Well, here you are, tattoos and tits and all. There are certain people you stay close enough with your whole life just so that their friends know to notify you when they die. You are that to me.