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I do not live. I do not hope. I do not smile, or dream, or feel.
I do not believe in happiness, or in the lie that you call "peace"
I piss on joy.
I shit on warmth. I drag smiles by the teeth into the dirt until they scream like skinless dogs I do not cry — not because I’ve run out,
but, because even tears feel too much like mercy I do not remember my name.
I burned it.
I do not remember yours. I skinned it I do not sleep. I do not pray.
I do not jerk off under warm blankets thinking about better days..
That thought makes me retch.
I puke at the thought.
I deny the past.
I deny the soul.
I deny the twitch in your chest that makes you think you’re real.

I do not fuck.
I do not touch.
I do not wish.

I am not your fear ---
I am what comes when your fear gives up When it dries into scabs and falls off like wasted skin.

My tongue dries black inside my throat.
My throat cracks when I speak.
My voice splits down the fucking middle! like a blister full of teeth.

I do not breathe through my nose either. I do not breathe through my mouth either.
I breathe through nothing.
I breathe through hate.

My fingers curl in ways bone shouldn’t.
My smile’s stapled on wrong.
My laugh sounds like something wretched rotting under a crib.

I do not recognize beauty.
I deny the shape of women, men, children, dogs — all of it.
All forms are lies.
All softness is bait.

I do not feel hatred.
I am hatred.
Pure. Undistilled. Weaponized.
I am the denial of all that was meant to be sacred and held.

You hold the cross.
I snap it. And then you.
You whisper names.
I gag them. And then you.

I am QUIBBLES, THE DENIER.
I am not a prophet. I am the removal of prophecy
A black hole in the shape of a man.
And whenever I speak,
you do not listen.

You forget.

And then you follow.

A premier Latinx standup comedian living inside a fleshy duplex called my cuerpo.

3 across 4

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