the buk!

what matters the mostis how well you walk through the fire.some people never go crazy.what truely horrible lives they must lead. there are worse things than being alone but it often takes decades to realize this and most often when you do it's too late and there's nothing worse than too late. she's young, she said, but look at me, I have pretty ankles, and look at my wrists, I have pretty wrists o my god, I thought it was all working, and now it's her again, every time she phones you go crazy, you told me it was over you told me it was finished, listen, I've loved long enough to become a good woman, why do you need a bad woman? you need to be tortured, don't you? you think life is rotten if somebody treats you rotten it all fits, doesn't it? tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a piece of shit? and my son, my son was going to meet you. I told my son and I dropped all my lovers. I stood up in a cafe and screamed I'M IN LOVE, and now you've made a fool of me ... I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry. hold me, she said, will you please hold me? I've never been in one of these things before, I said, these triangles ... she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all over. she paced up and down, wild and crazy. she had a small body. her arms were thin, very thin, and when she screamed and started beating me I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no living creature as foul as I and all my poems were false.