You walk because you have legs

you walk because you have legs
but where do you go?
you kill yourself slowly sometimes
spitting out pieces where blood is thick
and you forget until it needs to pull a knife on you
to get your attention, and scream in your face
you're short
you're fat
you're ugly
you're unloved
you're stupid
you smell with bad poems

who the hell do you think you are?
I had a hole in my pocket, and I fell through
like music falls through the qualities of air in stillness
and I walked away with what was left
a swatted fly not worth finishing off
I buzzed around in my father's silence with one wing
and one dead arm that couldn't feel even when he
was more dead,  and the silence was a shouting slam
 
you walked because you had legs
but where the hell did you go?
pick pocketed except for  what falls out
in the cracks of the sidewalk hemmed in by stone realities
cracked into hard  bits of yourself - fighting toward some green weed
of what you are
a few drops of life you scavenge from the narrow pavement
into this falling, and you feel the falling
when the pieces reassemble
and you try to fill the hole with emptiness,
and you fall through into the cracks where you kill yourself slowly
and become your father's nightmare