River Teeth

Kenny

I've spent hundreds of mornings letting lukewarm water run over my hair and wash the blood clots down the drain. Red becomes pink and pink becomes clear and then it's time to go to work.

Hundreds of nights I've spent in the streets, watching others live the lives that I want. Some nights I see those lives get taken away because I was too late. It doesn't matter how young or old they look - I still beat myself up every time for it. Wickedness slices faster than a knife across the neck.

Late nights like this one I've also spent walking through the woods, hearing twigs snap under my feet and seeing the glowing eyes of small animals wondering why I'm there.

For what has felt like hundreds of years, I've heard his voice in my head

(wait wait

i need to know who you are)

Sometimes mixed with

(explain this to me now

what the fuck is all this

are you in a cult or something)

I don't know who or what I am really. A (good?) brother, a (good?) son, a (good?) boyfriend, a (good?) person. Most people tell me I am (good). But most people's idea of (good) is different from other people's idea of it.

If anything, I'm just Kenny. Kenny the Poor Kid. Kenny, Here For a Good Time, Not a Long Time. Kenny, the Wallflower.

I pass under the stars and remember they're all dead.

(i need to know who you are)

Maybe I'm just pretending to be a human.