And what of the warfare? Hostilities flaring up at the mention of (who could have guessed it?)… A poem in dialogue, the outcome of which is steel on steel, the rapier of wit, a dagger to the heart. All arguments end in Fuck You. Q.E.D. There was never accord, so to talk of a return to peace is beggary.
Annabelle: And fuck your mother, too. You’re just like her.
Benjamin: Cum Z for Zorro on your belly.
Annabelle: Castrate you with my eyes.
Benjamin: Latch on to you and bleed you of every ounce of energy until you want to eat yourself and the world.
Annabelle: Ruin your self-confidence, kill your comfort, leave you with a complex.
Benjamin: Make you grow old and weary and ugly.
Annabelle: Make you grow old and weary and ugly.
Benjamin: Insult you.
Annabelle: Yes, insult you until you can’t bear it any longer.
Benjamin: Until you break down and weep on a daily basis, but not in front
Annabelle: of company, yes I know, and you will take long walks just to escape that sense of failure
Benjamin: of utter failure.
Annabelle: shitting yourself
Benjamin: chattering about the days
Annabelle: when you could have had any woman
Benjamin: any man you wanted
Annabelle: and your vision is rotten
Benjamin: and you mistake your son for your ex husband, and you
Annabelle: or your daughter for your ex wife, and you
Benjamin: hate them both
Annabelle: it dawns on you
Benjamin: your body goes
Annabelle: that it’s not me who’s to blame, that I’m
Benjamin: but the world
Annabelle: I’m nothing but the world’s hatred of you
Benjamin: given a voice and a face
Annabelle: and a body
Benjamin: and sent back at you
Annabelle: look at me, asshole
Annabelle: look at me
Benjamin: look at me.