The Wax Conspiracy

Paraguay whispered your name

Baby, you're driving me crazy. I think my therapist is paying you. Are you on her payroll? Or are you just doing this because you like to see me Hurt? I'll be your Elephant Man all you want, just wash the bag before you put it on.

Remember when we first met? There on that platform in AsunciĆ³n. You with your face beaten by some kids looking for your wallet and your passport. Me with my hands in your pockets, making sure you were alright for cash, finding none. It was a disappointing day for both of us, I'm sure.

That was the start of something alright. And you followed me home, thinking I was behind it all. It was meant to be. I had you tied up and sat down on a chair I found by the lake. The rust was cutting through your leg and I think it might have given you an infection.

We sat there until dawn, listening to the numbers station. Catching their short waves and playing them against the roll. You always loved rocking out with your d20 out. It was all I found on you that day. I don't know why you carry a bag of dice, but odds are one in six if you're regular.

The week flew by and we supped on cups pouring memento mori into our day. Your face dragged on and brought back my love of classic films of the Victorian era. My therapist called but all I could hear was you gurgling blood and wheezing over the gruel I carefully glopped out for you.

It was a sad day when you didn't respond as I smacked your face with the passport I found back there in a bush by that platform. Your face was gone, and so too in the little book of your travels.

I'll never forget you as much as you'll forget me. Am I a good man? Or a bad man? Paraguay always whispers.

Ethan Switch

Written on Thursday, 29 May 2014

The Wax Conspiracy

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