Wounded by a good friend

Feeling, today, the mediocrities of my life press down hard on me, crushed flakes of butterfly between pages of leatherbound. Feeling, today, like I am boring and predictable, that is, the fate expected for everyone, except for me. See how deep my ego runs? At least I’m honest about it? Or am I? Don’t believe everything I write. I sure don’t. In the shadow of a man, in the shadow of a tower, in the shadow of a misunderstanding. Trying to be sincere, but not too sincere, you know? I know that would only push you away. Trying to be cool, but not too cool, you know? I know that would only pull you in and I shudder to think at the things you could see, at such close distance. The self-pity like a twinkle in my eye. Always on my own, and always fighting with myself. Lying in bed, wounding the same place over and over. Break a bone and then break it again, because it’s easier the second time. Cross a line and watch it blur to nothing. Do I have a body, or only its iterations, shaking to…