Five Weird Years

from Aprophenicthesia by Octothorpe and the Aglets

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lyrics

I've, for five weird years, had a white speck (i.e. a slight bump/a light lump) under my right pec, and if I've steered clear of a mic check, I'll be terse: I was averse to being liked yet.

It came into focus in the shower. That's when I first noticed and lost all my power. If I had no external locus, it was now or never.

Was it tumorous or was it cancer? Rumors were numerous, but there wasn't any answer. It was just some lesion with no real reason. Did my nevus just arrive, or did I get a disease in some foreign countries? Belize, did you do this to me while I was swimming around?

At first I was terrified - scared for the worst, but carnal thirst made those fears subside, so I swallowed my dreams and I fallowed my pride, though I didn't think my lovers could get accustomed to it. It was hard to get my flirt on; I kept my shirt on to do it, and though my cœur was hidden under covers, they could see right through it.

Two schools, four cities, six girls later...

Ate myself into overdrive, with a final thought, "Might as well not be alive, because if I can't choose how I don't survive, I can at least be obese and see to how I die."

So I holed up and I held out. Filled up my folders with bucket lists and self-doubt, wondering if I were older is this the sorta stuff I'd care about.

- Finish sixteen novels (just the classics) [½✓]
- Watch every episode of my favorite sitcom [✓✓]
- Write letters to past lovers, apologizing for everything they'd become from what I'd done [✓✓✓✓✓✓]
- Sneak into hotel pools [ ]
- Float there all day
- Think on my insolubles
- Drift away into one last lipophilicity
- Lie in the pool facility for one last lie pool felicity
- Just be swimming around in circles [✗]

Water as a refuge, hotter and hotter until I'm slaughtered by the deluge. The morning's blotter will just read, "The ЮOЖ".

And my gut's more pronounced and my speech can't compare, but my speck's still sticking around out there. I can't see my future as far as my feet: a death almost complete.

Got desensitized to my speck's state, that pest of a blight since disguised as a breastplate. I still poked and prodded it as a pastime, but another point was plotted another bath time:

I got used to it, no longer hated. But when I squeezed it absentmindedly, it deflated.

It was circling around the drain. What was swimming around my brain? That I'd died in my mind... I'd already died.

So I lost my way (and I lost my weight). What didn't steal my life just might've sealed my fate. I didn't feel myself, and that felt great.

Because who knows what's gonna happen in five more years? Just drink whatever's on tap and have five more beers. Don't pretend there's a gap, 'cause I've your minor fears:

How many of my exes don't have my kids? How can you tell how good at sex someone you idolize is? What should I seek out, and what's none of my business?

Is busyness a virtue you should min-max? Will it really hurt you to never learn to relax? When can I let go of my mind's beeswax?

I had a white bump, a slight lump of flesh on my chest.

It was the best.

credits

from Aprophenicthesia, released February 2, 2020

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Octothorpe and the Aglets Minneapolis, Minnesota

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