Unchallenged.

When I went crazy, I imagined I was God. I wore banana-yellow plaid pants to school with bright white tennis shoes. My hair was old and blue, but my skin was faded new. I had a diamond on my ear and it was a gift from the Sultan of Kabdur. I met his son at the creek and saved him from a flock of distressed pigeons carrying delayed Russian military strategies.

Then I learned to paint my nails with John F. Kennedy only seconds before he died---which was in a movie theatre, sitting in between myself and Jackie, watching Dark Knight. Then this Big Yellow Taxi drove through the ceiling and taught me a lesson from CVS Pharmacy.

A package of Juicy fruit bubblegum wedged itself between the strands of curls I painted teal. I dreamt of skinny pale french girls lost in Midwestern Canada. They were searching for a statue of LL Cool J and I had no clue who he was. They had a treasure map, so I stole it, and bartered for a new messanger bag in which I coaxed her soul to stay.

She was loving me, in a tiny glass jar. I poked holes so we could breathe, but the pony tails came undone and the sheets were soon unmade. I saw a damsel in his cold silver eyes though mine were blinded by the vehicle debris in the middle of springtime showers.

My final Duchess was not the name of the play, but the game was something similiar. We all made love, or war, or babies, or maybe even puppies. We just cared and we invented care. We prayed on the likes of the lakes with the lights and I held your hand each night you died. Our mystery was lonliness and I saw nothing as to tell me it was coming.

You were a fighter with the curse of a dancer and I worshipped your grace that conformed you. That cell phone you stole with the price of the tolls that made Friday feel like it's Tuesday. But Wednesday was longer when the storms were stronger and I knew you in every sensual way. You shot all the shots 'til the cartridge was gone and the gun had to be reloaded.

Your red-stained polo shirt is what I wiped my tears with when I fell off the swivel chair and knocked my mind out of time and space for good. I told my doctor all about your friends from Saturn and he said I was called "insane."

I mentioned the evenings I laid in your bed and you slept by the TV with the screen on channel fifteen and the can of soda still in your grasp. I groaned when the ball slammed in my eye but you said that no one could tell. So when Stephen gossiped about the shiner I swore I would never look at you again. All those arguments I started I wish I had stopped and instead learned to kiss you, my friend. I should've learned my ABC's and I could've managed your baggage, but I came with chocolate, flowers, and garbage because that's what you are to me, sweet thing.

I can type without the keyboard and I can smile without the happiness because I made a choice that saved you from having to choose. And that navy BMW drives by every day at five. Now, I'm glad I'm not inside.