The Scar Will Look Like a Face

You lie        on the roof

of your best friend’s garage imagining   flood.

Only you two survive.

The clamor of her mother’s television

        won’t let you forgetthe existence of other people.

If only I could thinkhard enough, if onlyI could concentrate,your friend says.

You’re not sure what she wants      with telekinesis.

You’ve seen Carrie,       Firestarter,and how her pupils dilate

      as she pours alcohol      on her palm

        and sets herself ablaze.She claims        it doesn’t hurt.        Pain’s a lie

used to keep you in line.

The sun hurts your head. You close your eyesand still see red. I suspect

it’s the words, you say, the right ones      can crack

the world open. You envision reality      an eggshell. At 4,

you believed TV a portal. One day,    you reached out.     Glass.

Now you believe    spells could open that door,

but what would you do with adventure,

you’re overwhelmedby geography homework.    You smoke cigarettes    with a Smoking Kills! sticker    stuck on the pack.

I want….    I want….      you say over        and over again,but never finish the sentence.