Spaghetti

I never hated Hitler as much as that night, talking with her over lukewarm spaghetti.

She screamed and she shouted and she put up a fight, but her words were as plain as the Serengeti.

So I pulled her back by her long blond hair, like Chris Brown after a few drinks, but I could tell by the look in her sad eyes that she liked it. 

I paused, letting the moment hang like mildewed shower curtain and said, “I’ll break you.” She replied, “Yeah, but I broke you first so I’ve got it coming” and I kissed her with all my soul. 

And by sould I mean my… GOD WHAT WAS THAT RUCKUS? And then she said, “one night we watched the sunset violently crush the horizon.”

And she sighed with a deep relief of nostalgia. 

She hadn’t poured into this leather skirt since 9^th grade and she felt butterflies burning her insides. 

Whenever butterflies burn my insides I wish I had some Popeye’s chicken. I love it. Especially when I’m breathing heavy. And girl, I’m breathing heavy as hell. 

I sat across the street from the Popeye’s, eating at a yuppie restaurant, drinking the best Old Fashioned I’d ever had. The sign was broken, the lights kept flashing, “POPE-YES” “POPE-YES”

Saying “Hot boys, baby you got what I want.” Singing, “Hot boys, baby you got what I want. I can cook boy, can you cook boy?”

I saw the girl of my dreams walking down the street, where I saw her walk every day.  My heart beat fast each time she passed, and I wondered if she would ever know how hard my heart beats for her. (rough translation from Hindi)

Beat. Beat. Beat. Have I had enough strife in this life for her to see the truth in my heart? I sing the song of universal beauty from exposed pores.  Subtle vibrations of strung out creations bleed new life on to this cold concrete.

Realizing that I am only partial human and my heart only existed for my master’s desires; I begin to dig deep into my human like flesh, removing my heart and throwing into oncoming traffic.