I’m afraid of the way I live my life.
I’m afraid of the way I don’t.
I’m afraid of the things that I want to do but I won’t.
I’m afraid of God.
I’m afraid to believe and I’m afraid of all the loved ones that I’ve made leave.
I’m afraid that my dog doesn’t love me anymore.
I’m afraid of the social laziness that let Kitty Genovese die.
And I’m afraid of the mob mentality that makes otherwise normal people go blind.
I’m afraid of the way that the world works and I’m afraid of the words in my notebooks.
I’m afraid that you all know that I am a pervert.
But the big red bird that lives under the city
doesn’t give a damn about me and it dies every night.
By burning alive.
I’m afraid of my grandfather’s cancer.
And I’m afraid of my mom’s dying arm.
I’m afraid that I’ve somehow caused my family harm.
I’m afraid that the ones I love won’t have enough.
I’m afraid that the ones I love won’t have enough.
It’s harder to be yourself than it is to be anybody else.
I wish I were a little less of a coward but the big red bird that lives under the city
doesn’t give a damn about me and it dies every night.
So I bought a knife.
I am a knife.