The Diary of Antoine Roquentin

moving furniture all afternoon

a lie, and something slipped into her coffee

her terror and desperation

tried to get the neighbors to help her

a passion play written by Polanski

sent to the emergency room last night

ripped apart her room at the home

A grown woman hiding in a stranger’s closet.

“HE KILLED ALL HIS CHILDREN AND STOLE ALL MY MONEY”

No sleep. An omelet.

Sorting drawers of bricabric

I lie under piled afghans on the couch

The television’s been taken away

The armchair, various furniture

Trundled away to the “home.”

Money hidden everywhere

Take apart the shed in the back yard

Shower.

Drive to Josef K.’s house

and fall asleep in his arms.

Sleep through second saturday

Voraciously reading The Mandarins

with every spare moment, Henri Perron

Scrinasse, Lambert, Nadine

More real than anyone I know.

No one online on the day before Easter.

This evening, Mezzanine is on repeat

I want to crawl inside Josef K. and disappear

Immolation in trite nothingness

Downloading gigabytes of porn

Distraction upon distraction

Can I build a tower high enough

to erase what we’ve done?

Our society’s empty promises and lies

“You’re doing what’s best for her”

I wish I could believe it.

I used to believe in human dignity.

I don’t know what I have left.