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Sunday, 21 June, 2015

Why you hate apples and taking the train home
He can’t see you through the keyhole
because you don’t fit into a fucking keyhole
like the sheets that don’t fit your bed, with coffee stains and blood
stains you’ve grown up

years ago you learned algebra, you forgot
then someone tells you that negative numbers don’t exist
because if you have zero apples and someone takes two
you still have zero apples

then again
you thought you had no self-respect
but when he followed you to your apartment
and threw the twenty dollars when he was done
you suddenly understood the concept of negative numbers

you dump the money out the window and steal the next two apples
that person bought
now you have zero dollars
and they have negative two apples

Your next step will be back behind the yellow line
Geneva is dead, it has been for years
it went out with human decency and leg warmers
the man in the apartment next to yours doesn’t smile
or believe in free education
yesterday you heard that thirty thousand people died somewhere
and that forty eight women get raped
every hour in the Congo
Geneva is dead
you put one foot over the yellow line
thinking about killing yourself
and who can blame you
you think you’re the only one

People aren’t keys, they’re hairpins
The tear in your stocking reaches your knee
your high shoes make it hard to climb the stairs
just take the elevator
people aren’t keys
you’ll realise this when you open the door
find him standing in your apartment
you’ll open your purse, take out your gun
and shoot him
keyholes are keyholes
the hole in him was from a bullet, anyway

Post Script: The whole landscape is fucked
The key fell out of the keyhole
the key doesn’t exist
your tights have always had that ladder behind your left knee
but that’s not the same thing as being torn