“I wish that you guys had children so I could kick them in the fucking head or stomp on their testicles so you could feel my pain because that’s the pain I have waking up every day.”


You don’t need to find my child to stomp
on his head and his testicles
you already found him.
He has relapsed with leukemia, and
it has come in the shape of a testicular tumour.

You may not note the connection but I do.
Mike, we live in a river of dreams
and literally, what we wish for comes true.

So many children stomped on to feel our pain.
It’s all right Mike, it’s not just you;
most people in the end, when they are full of rage

and murder and little else, when they have forgotten
their nature, and everyone runs when they approach,
it is then it is natural to strike out at a child—
usually kill them; I applaud your sense of restraint Mike.

Pain is the ultimate arbiter of what it takes to make someone do
whatever you want them to. A little fornication—every man
wants that—right, Mike? A little bit of sympathy with your pain—
when no one seem to get it—when your only sense of self
is inexpressible and you are a prisoner of terror and there is no
other way to sign to the world—in any other way.

I need to let you know you found him Mike,
you found my son, stomped him hard—and now—
I understand
your pain.