Mister

For something I shouldn't.

Mister, mister -- where have you been?

My tiny paper heart splinters away,

Fading out like a geese hiss, whilst

The Mayor of my mouth, of my tongue, of my tone

Shakes his fist, a confounded groan,

And I make them weep, horrifyingly shrill,

For the exhibition, the intuition, a thunder-clap woe,

They cry it out as if they were sore.

And I escape, silently, extremely;

Into the bat-cave, roaring mighty thunder, hungry adolescence. 

Mister, mister -- it has been days!

And the heat sways with the preoccupied glamour

Of the already-developed world - let's never mind that,

Appease the Look, to me, if you will:

I will the ways, to soothe the gastric acid 

Clamouring to the outside of me,

Ripping torrents into the ways I own,

I sob for the poverty, the inflammation, and the grief,

I am knee-deep, gilding red ways forward

Into the days without you, you sick fool.

Mister, mister -- you looked once too many,

And now I can bleed for the assurance

The one, wonderful chance - the sweltering maze

I follow in rage, rage, hope, and the divine percentage--

And God tears me open on the operating table,

Out pours the violent mush -- the sadness of a world 

Monarched by humanity -- the choice to hurt 

Within and without -- my blood, a downpour of citrus acid, 

With a mouth of spit that is pH the First, 

Mister, you could have been a spectacle,

Could've left the hole of me not dragging open,

Mister, you didn't -- Mister, mister!:

Statement: 

When I am dead, they will look for the reasons.

They will marvel at the tense in my neck,

Wondering why I looked behind me, an anxious sign:

Why I asked for it. And you will be safe, because

I looked, not out of fear, but of wanting.

I was giddy to hopefully see you, hopefully. I asked for it

When I'd looked thirty times on one street

And seen only the benefactor. 

Abbey Madden