The Argument

Anyone can do anything to this body.
I wish it weren’t the case, but that’s the setup.
Time, microorganisms and human cruelty can do anything to this body.
I wish it weren’t the case, but that’s the setup.

This body is a blueprint made in a lab.
The zero point of my abandonment and my captivity.
The nexus where I hate you and am still crawling forward for more.
My last chance for liberation.

Once there was laughter; contagious, infectious, mind-bogglingly delightful laughter.
Snuffed out at the hands of something indescribably merciless.

I tell myself it doesn’t mean that much. I pretend it doesn’t mean that much. That I am above it. That the look on your face hasn’t gutted me. That the world hasn't diced me into a salad for maggots. That someone will see me, adore me, put a Grade A stamp on it once and for all.

I get socked in the face with a dodecahedron fist of light and my own absurdity. Am I slurping a cocktail of neurotransmitters or gulping from the Holy Grail?

Every boundary bursts into song.
There is nothing but everything, and nothing means anything, and it all means everything.
There is no one left to plead the case.