believe me February 27

Believe me,
I can be blind. I can refuse to see the Sun. Even.
But I will refuse to feel your moist fingers,
I will refuse to loosen my breath, or try to follow your slow thoughts.
I will only think straight. I will not give free advice.
I will sit on a dusty road somewhere, smell the foul drain flow by the side
but still not budge an inch from where I am.
I can turn the pages of a book, be happy for some silly reason,
laugh because the day is still young and I can see each fine pellet,
each fine grain of sand beneath my feet.
Actually, nothing can get me down,
unsaid words will just drop off like dry carcass,
shit or something worse.