special

the bath
is a real steamer
tonight

sweat rolling
and beading
filling my fingers
with moist ruin

the cheap pulp
warps and
wrinkles and
stains

the eyes burn as
the heart forgets
a beat
now and again

moisture claws
every surface
as
ancient instruments
fart and wheeze
in time

with

the growls and
gurgling of
my traitorous
gut

no one
will care what
i write
100 years
from now

so why do it?

why is there
a last meal on death row?
why is there
chemotherapy and radiation?
why are there
confessionals?

everyone wants to
believe
that they'll be
different

that they're
special

they're not wrong
they are
special
unique
precious
to at least one other
living thing

but being special
doesn't mean
that
you get to miss out
on all the
shit life
brings

especially
at
the end