I wish you were a great man.
Broad shouldered. Quick witted.
Smooth like James Bond,
Cool like James Dean.
I wish. But you are not.
And nor will you ever be.
You will always remain the appallingly average,
Reflection of mediocrity that you are today.
But if ever anyone accuses me of wishing you harm
They could not be farther from the truth.
Because I know you suffer.
Every night as she lies in your bed, cradled in your arms
Staring open eyed into the night, you know.
You know you don’t deserve her.
And one day she will leave your bed and never return,
And this shining moment of unjust glory will burn
In the back of your eyelids like a branding iron.
The scratch of every nail on your back,
Will be a scar upon your heart.
Her smell upon your clothes
Will haunt you like a vengeful ghost–
No sir, I do not wish you harm. I wish you luck.
As for me, I was born with hands that could hold this fire.
written circa 2002