by mickharris

trying to tell this story

is like reaching inside of my heart

trying to find the blackened stone lodged there

rip it out

thumb away the gristle

and show it to the world

there’s too much connective tissue

it’s buried, only visible at the weirdest and quickest angles

sometimes it’ll flash, wink


but it’s too far

the poison feels too deep

i just want to get it out


how can someone get that far in

how can five people making magic and draining their wills toward the betterment of one miserable endlessly dour person

get so deep under your fucking skin that you can’t get it out again

at best it bubbles in my throat

at best it sizzles a little under my skin but never at my fingers never ever close enough


how can i tell you what it was like to sit at a table

on a slanted peeling splintered floor

covered in tacky tapestries and mismatched silverware

staring at the people who are supposed to be the most amazing

the most important

the most magical and mysterious

arguing about money

arguing about time spent with each other

arguing about attitude and table manners