JOHN VARGAS

I was obsessed with the veins in her neck!
I could see her blue thick veins
running from her chin down to her chest,
along the velvet hills of her skin,
these arteries full of rich, dark blood,
twisting around like the friggin’ streets of L.A.
Every time I drove I felt myself traveling the veins
of her neck, getting lost in her hot Cuban bloodstream . . .

 

But it was so stupid because
it was so fucking doomed because
even if I wasn’t married to her sister,
even if I was single,
I was all wrong for her!
She’s into bad boys!
Men with prison records!
Chain smokers! Tattoos!
I didn’t even have facial hair!
I hated loud noises!
She liked ex-heroin addicts!
There’s a certain romance to men like that!
A mystique!
There was absolutely no friggin’ chance for me!
It was pathetic!
It was sickening!
I was disgusted with my life!
I went out west to fucking escape
and my fucking life decided to follow me!
I wasn’t a man!

God help me,
I was a parody of a man.