antiseptic, antisocial, all these detrimental disinfectants and antibacterial ointments scattered across the countertop, the harsh light bringing forth every imperfection

feels like we live in a world where everyone should be in a bubble, afraid of our shadows and microbial dissidence

he sat in his car, staring at the red front door across the street, muttering under his breath, steeling his resolve

half an hour later, defeated he will walk into his own home, head hanging in shame

the other side of that red door

she taps her foot nervously, trying not to watch the clock

she sees him across the street through a crack in the blinds, wondering why he doesn’t just step out

as he pulls away she begins to sob, taking his lack of courage as her personal fault, she stares into the mirror and curses herself for not being good enough

they coat their hands with sanitizer, hoping to scrub the weakness from their spirit, debilitating their own natural resolve

reddened skin and open sores, revisionist historical facts, eradicating immunity and susceptible to teeming masses of germs, yearning to feed

five second rules, and festering wounds, my knees were always covered in thick crusted scabs

sanitary meant big blue garbage trucks, and dirty overalls, hanging off the back of the truck between stops

an ex had an ex who tried to be a sanitation engineer, after the third stop he fell off the truck and just laid in the road, the blue beast becoming smaller as it trundled along

it was fitting, him sprawled on the road like discarded trash from an open window, he limped to a payphone and begged for a ride home, she disposed of him in the nearest receptacle, unwilling to recycle him yet again

but not before taking his seed in the not so fertile soil of her womb

she was lying on the bed, feet up in stirrups as the the doctor worked to remove the remains of the miscarried baby

the room smelled of alcohol wipes and antiseptic spray, she couldn’t bear the feel of the jel on her bare skin, the prodding of the wand using echolocation to search

and as she returned home to the bright red door, found her sister crying in a puddle of running makeup and antibacterial soap, unable to cleanse herself, to be there for her, a face unwilling to face the harsh truth under the bright white light

the black and white image of loss burned into her mind

we disembowel the parts of ourselves we cannot fix, pick at the edges of the scab, leaving scars, constant reminders of the things we lose of ourselves in attempts to appeal to others

oversaturate with bleach and stingent fluids to purify, beautify, embellish the lies, while enhancing the flaws, adorning our tired frames with glitter and gems

i prefer a lady who will get down in the muck, one who let’s her natural beauty shine without spackle and paint, the one you wake up to not the one in disguise

but i’m antisocial, just an ugly slab of beef marred with imperfections, one who sees the joy in ugly, and thinks flaws are gorgeous

would rather sit and watch a b movie by Corman or Waters than a vapid cinematic auteur so self obsessed with lighting they lose the humanity of the scene

wipe my hands on my pants before shaking a hand instead of dousing myself in chemicals, but i will pop a piece of gum in before going for a kiss, put in some beard oil before a date

or i would if that was the life for me

instead i sit in my hermetically sealed room, painting ugly with words, scribbling out poorly penned missives to be viewed from clean rooms around the globe, filthy little things no shot of penicillin can erase

or wallowing in this place, adjacent to anger and sorrow, choking to death on words no one read