Unlikely Stories: droplets by Kurt Lee

To the Artist's Page             To our home page

To Kurt Lee's previous piece     To Kurt Lee's next piece

droplets

standing on the wooded platforms covering the sidewalk, under construction, dotted with fluorescent orange signs, i dreamed that i hung limp in the scented arms bearing symphonic eyes, making me drunk with their swelling, but awoke to nothing but my own weary legs, i slept standing up against a brick wall, afraid to move, afraid to lay down, buried in my abstract dreams, nothing following or ahead of me, my pockets empty, my face scarred, my feet bare, i dreamed that i was once in love, and loved in return, but it was only a dream.

the raindrops struck my skull, drooling the grease from my coiled fuzzy hair down my face and body, dampening my yellow torn blood and dirt stained t-shirt, spraypainted with a red dot over the heart, product of a miserly artist i had approached painted under bridge walls, my fists clenched, hoping he might have a blade to slide into my bowels, to paint over his festoons with my own copper bloodletters. i once had a jacket and a pipe, a soft and comfortable lambskin jacket, that i would curl up into wrapped in blankets of dried leaves, as fragrant as the autumn dawn mistress herself, virginal as the tepid waters that dripped from the spouts onto my blistered and thirsty lips, drunk or sober, disorderly or dead, contained or free. i've long since lost those items, awoken in pools of mud, blood, or encrusted semen, or all of the above, lost them as i've lost my memory, my memory, my soul, my love. the sound of rains tapping rhythms on undertin roofs as i've slept pilfered by rotted dream carrion, specters that traversed the rolling hills soaked in dew mind clutching my prize under bristled arms, pairs of eyes peering into my own out of the longing darkness tendrils, some clutching warmth to my unloved bones, and asleep in whirlwinds of crackling brown and scented auburn leaves. i awoke some time in the night to the sound of my own screams, a blackened figure kneeling at my ankles, pounding nails into my feet, nailing me to the wooden platform, on which i was frightened to move from. laughter fluttering from beckoning curtains, televisions, and ecstatic burps over bed frames striking plaster walls, children crying, the sound of a drunken radio, sending pearls chopin filter air unto my emblazoned eardrums, as the nails were pounded through my bare feet, filthy and blistered, i clutched the carpenter's jacket, pulled and wrenched on him, my mouth open, whispering raspily nothing but three words

"i hate myself"

and within the hour, i was gracious enough to myself to let myself fall asleep, my legs buckling, i collapsed drowsy with pain, bleeding feet fastened to the earth.

i awake to the sunstink, pulling across my skin like flowing droplets of oil. i stand, and look down at my feet, broken and throbbing, nailed to the earth through random points, at least thirty nails fastening me, well dressed men and women rush by, their heads down. i beg passerbys to phone the authorities, or free me, but none notice, occasionally tossing a coin at me, which is picked up minutes later by one of my fellow vagrants. after awhile, the truth returns to my oblivious imagination lost in fantasy, that nobody cares, and nobody owes me anything. not even my own humanity, or a respect or benevolence, of any kind. i'm just another nigger, drowning in the chicken fried and diesel saturated trenches some people like to call the streets, waiting for some dreamt of angel to take me into nurturing arms, and cherish my blistered, unwanted flesh. i begin to cry, and a passing man, slaps me across my face. my glazed eyes drip downward, burning with hatred, my throat begins to chuckle, as i peer into the strange reflections flickering in my own pools of blood, collecting at my feet. my mind begins to wander across self unveiled fields, my mind and memory begin to water, tears trickle down, the hustling roar of the streets numbing my ears, my eyes sink into the reflections in my own blood. i begin to laugh.

"i hate myself, but i hate all of you more"

droplet 1-
i see myself asleep in the arms of my first boyfriend.
he cradles me, runs his hands over my pale torso, giving me goosebumps.
my warped asshole family sits watching television, discussing my bisexuality.
i turn red with embarrassment, curling tighter into the grasp of his arms.
his girlfriend hates me, he abandons me, my family mocks my feeling of abandon, a group of people who've never had any sort of relationship, beyond their first or second, and my hatred grows to a repulsive bulge. i begin to sleep on the street, misunderstood, hate filled, just wanting to escape their condescension.

droplet 2-
i see them, the four of them, they surround me, and taunt me. knock me down, tear my clothes down to my ankles, i am not a fag, society pigeonholes me, let's have a big MY SON''S A FAGGOT party, their fists rain down on me like baseball sized hailstones, bruising and battering my skin. i wake up naked, and crawl into the bushes, passing out again, from loss of blood, terrified some passerby might see me. little do i know, that even if they did, nobody would give a shit. they find me again, asleep by the railroad, under a tiny shelter self constructed. drag me out, and beat me until i'm unconscious, burning the word "victory" into my asscheek with a small cosmetic knife. one of their fat girlfriends stands on an overlooking hill, her laughing hate filled face the last image i see, before blood clouds my eyes.

droplet 3-
a blur of cityscapes. i walk the streets swilling down cheap booze, laughing and sobbing to myself simultaneously, the warm rain bringing me such a wealth of joy, i giggle at the sight of the sky and the scent of the thawing earth, dreaming with polluted brains of the time when i once felt love, love warming my icy skin, against the frigid speech of condescension and right wing americans, smiling like idiots at their televisions, and cruel trolls, sneering with contempt at their televisions, dreaming of their first kill. an empty bottle crashes to the earth, i kick off my torn shoes, and walk with delusional ecstasy, my bare feet, trudging over mudcaked hills, to a secluded cluster of cat tails, where i collapse, and drift giggling, into a drunken sleep of two hours, my head resting on a discarded tire.

droplet 4-
a whore for awhile. i make a couple hundred dollars, receiving blowjobs in the bathrooms of several trashy bars. i spend the money on booze. i grow bored of this, it doesn't suit my particular style of self hating. i begin to walk up and down the streets, a bucket over my head, bumping into people, drunkenly shrieking the worlds "KILL ME" at anyone who i touch. i sit in a public park, nauseated on some cheap LSD, smash a beer bottle over the street, and drive the broken shards into my stomach, twisting and twisting. i lay in a garbage heap sobbing, my only hopes that i might never awaken.

droplet 5-
i reach catatonia, afraid to move, propped against a wall. sometimes, i take pity on myself, to purchase a beer from the local convenience. somewhat flighty, still terrified to move, i stand in the sunlight or cool night air, remembering when i once felt love, now nothing, but self loathing, and fear. thousands of faceless passersby a day, some leaving me a coin or two, some a pitying glance, some hate greed well-fed eyes, some confused love, most, nothing at all. reflected in the droplet of blood, i see my own fingers reach to the sidewalk, picking up a shard of glass. i thrust it into my neck, warmly, the blood flows down. warmly, just for an endless moment, i fall exhausted to the sidewalk, one final sigh, someone stepping on my back, as they walk over me, darkness, soft, complete, and lost.

To the top of this page