Asking for Help

I don’t want to talk about it

I don’t want to call you (so stop asking me to call you)

call me

a solid standing piece of oak tree

someone who promised me

something

I can’t remember what it was

what was it that you said?

some idiot secret

some bucket filled with smiling teeth

and fresh breath.

dial the number from memory and stand there waiting

for you

to pick up.

I don’t want to speak about it

Things in my mind that I dont even know exist and you keep telling me

they exist.

When I see you

I am ripped in a hundred small square pieces

I am swiped into a xerox machine

copied

and quiet

because I dont want to tell you

how it looks

when its typed backwards and the words

are smeared

from too much ink

and jammed up paper.

I have thrown myself away

(so stop looking for me across a phone line)

I am crumpled up

and at the bottom of the dumpster

and its dark here

and you can’t tell me

anything I don’t already know.

That’s what I am trying to tell you

so stop calling me

you aren’t even calling me

anyway.