UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
ZACHARY C. BUSH
Morning Prayer 1,000 Mornings Later
Now mother raises me from a bathtub of bile and piss.
I curse You, God, who did me no keep,
through five orbits of Saturnís rings and back,
to nothing I pray.
Bill Burroughs, grant me the serenity
to accept my dirty-needle fate
I cannot change; the courage
to do whatever I must to just maintain;
and the wisdom to know when to make an exit.
I close the door
I turn the lock
Checking it a second time
Just to make sure
I meet my reflection in the mirror
Glass stained by dried teardrops
Blanketed with dust
I study my body
Ribs that shouldnít show
And the scars arms wrists thighs
Though it terrifies me to look deeper
I cannot leave the room
I am exposed
Allowing myself to experience
T H E C A R V I N G of my skin
It was in the bathroom that
I would punish myself for the life I tried to hide
Hoping this ritual would free me
Of my sins
My name is Zachary Cecil Bush. I am a twenty-three year old,
skinny, white male. I smoke too many cigarettes, knowing it is
slowly killing me, but itís better than crack. Did you like me then?
Most days I try to escape the grasp of my enemy, my reflection,
what you see. Most days I try to be something else, something
more than this. But honestly, I am no more, no less, passively
insecure and aggressively self-absorbed. What did you expect?
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