ticks
2008-03-18 1:57 a.m.

i've got my emerald shirt of miracles, i've got my post-coital hair of the devil.

i've got a birthmark on my right calf. no one notices. it's in the shape of a wad of cash, or a small fist, or your mouth when you moan.

i've got my wits to guide us along.

i've got a paper diary, and i like to read it before i get out of bed in the morning.

i look to see where i've come from, all those terrible places-- the tar pit where i nearly drowned in sludge, or the empty field where i sat and waited to be drained alive by ticks.

i acknowledge my diary with a sturdy nod. i put it back on the shelf, and i skip down the stairs, ready to ruin myself all over again.