Not here

I’m not
here. I haven’t been

here in a long
time. I checked out
somewhere around
’95 or ’96. I don’t

remember what I
was doing then, but it was
probably something I
shouldn’t.  Since then, I
have lied, cheated, and
stolen. I have
fucked, punched, bitten, kicked, and
abandoned. I have
regretted. I have
wept. I don’t
know where I
am anymore, or
why. Don’t look to me

for answers. Don’t ask me
how. Let me burn out,

a forgotten candle.

Melt me down and
make something else,
something more grateful,
something better.

Anything

other than me.

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0 Responses to Not here

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    No. I don’t want a different version of you, want the you version of you, the one right now, the one that thunders and howls and feels like some wild creature. The writer. Want that version, because there is nothing better. Because there is no 1995 or 1996. There’s just now. You always hurt me, Jones. Always.

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