> All Teeth
>  by Regidar
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> All Teeth/No Hope
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s a wicked life
isn’t it
Trixie?

and that’s how you really feel
isn’t it
Trixie?

you’d like a different life
wouldn’t you?

One with everything
in
place.

The shelves lined with success.
The pictures framed with gold.
the memories fond,
the friendships strong.

the LIGHTS

the SOUNDS

the COLORS

the SHAPES



The theatrics


and the pomp.


It is all


you want.


So I’ll do my best
to act the part—
please forgive me if I stutter
or forget a line

we all need a reminder

from time to time.


go to the shelf
the one without accolades or awards
and retrieve for you and I
the book.

The one full of photographs
Taken at different rate of frame
and different shutter speeds
take a look through the archive
of days gone by.

hidden inside, you just may find
evidence that you were
once just fine.


(but is it that easy?)


With hat in hoof,
you moved.
Turned it upside
down.

With a smile hollowed out


a plume of smoke rose up.



And for a moment, you reached out—



(As if you’d ever been there in the first place)



—and you stepped back.


Is it difficult now?
To open those pages.
Will you do it anyway?
Just to remind yourself.
             there are other possibilities.

How strange is this obsession
with moments that have passed
and will never be repeated
when the memory itself is already
so difficult to forget
why do we need to be reminded
of what we can no longer touch?

Or hear?


Or see,


Or hold.


do you suppose that maybe
silver iodide conjuring these images into temporary permanence
was not what any were ever meant to do?


or do you suppose that


there could be something


profoundly wrong


with you



and that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be?


Wrench the book open,
Trixie.
You don’t even need to start at the start.

It will all hurt your heart.



(As if that had ever been there in the first place)


Taxidermied time
Glowing and glistening
In its otherworldly shine

You can almost hear it again.


(almost.)


Run your hoof along the corner of the page
Feel how old this is
how long you have had it
and ponder how it has not even lived half its life
in your
possession.


Not to unearth any unpleasantness


of the past


but you can almost remember how she smiled


when she passed it on to you.

And yet
it remains
a mockery.


(what good are memories of the good times


when it feels as though there will never be


good times


ever


again?)


Ah! I see you’ve opened up to the wedding.

Excellent choice.

Look at how happy everyone is.
Look at how happy.


(as if you were ever happy in the first place)



you


stepped


back.


I don’t blame you,
Trixie.

You are flesh and bone,
just like everyone you know.

(Except, of course,


those photos.)


Flesh and bone,
just like everyone you know,
just like all of us.

As such,
you have your
fears and doubts.

which rarely slip out

Yet you show them off in the display
When you perform on stage
All can see it
clear
as
day.

I know.

(i’ve felt the same way)


It’s a wicked life,
Isn’t it,
Trixie?


filled with both good


and bad.


yet, doesn’t it feel...


(like these scales were tipped long before you?)


As if the photographs

(that you hate)

Which live in the book

(that you hate)

Have somehow,
in their timelessness,
always existed.

as if Trixie Lulamoon


(who you hate)


was an inevitability.



pick another page.


One of your first shows!
How precious.
What humble beginnings for
The Great
And Powerful

	(so great and powerful)

Trixie.

Now look at you!
Isn’t this the life you always wanted?
Couped up in your little wagon?
Wandering the lands?
Begging for scraps
Like a dog
in the streets?

Unrecognized by any and all?


At least from the bottom


there’s nowhere to fall.

Trixie,
Trixie,
Trixie.

You don’t need to say a word.
I already know.
And yes,
it is unfair


how a little mistake


can ruin your life like that.

how being just a bit too reckless
mars your reputation forever.

Everyone is flesh and bone.
Just
Like
You.

(so what’s wrong with me?)


Flipping through the pages now
It is only reasonable
To feel the anger
And dismay

That comes with


looking in


through a window in time


back to a place you are never allowed to return.


The rage it inspires?
That is normal.
For once,
you are normal.


	(“for once”)


It doesn’t matter
to whom this album once belonged
they are all dead.
they are all gone.

except for


in this book.


in this horrible mockery,


they are trapped.


Why don’t you set them free?


Everyone else
will just be forgiven for anything
While you are guilty
of everything.

doesn’t it make sense to just


let go


of the reins


and riding crop


and give yourself


a well deserved rest?


(so set them free.)


Any last wishes
or contemplations
before you join them
in the afterlife of ashes?

nothing of each other

nothing of you

nothing.
nothing left.


(...)

Oh,
Trixie.
You are adorable.
Please, believe the lie
that you will be missed
when you are gone.


(Set them free.)


Take a last look

At the empty shelves of failure

notice now, as you always have

the poverty and squalor

you exist within

(because you could not call this living)

all of this

in pursuit of your passion

was it worth it?

don’t answer.


(Set them free.)


Set yourself free.
Bleed for all eternity.
Pawn your tragic history for a bit or three.

But don’t


expect more.


The overwhelming majority of lives


were much more interesting than yours.



Much more interesting than mine.



(SET THEM FREE!)



You tossed the book on the stove,


and watched it burst to flame.


You choke on the smoke,


you watch them wither away.


All of them trapped there,


who were dead anyway,



yet as you watch the last photographs


of you and your mother together


when you were so young that


your memory does not evoke


the true nature of what it was


rather some vague facsimile


of what had once been


not too dissimilar


to the photos


but


weaker


and

further

away

you

began

to

wonder

if

you

made

another

terrible

irreparable

irreversible

mistake.



Lay down,
Trixie.

Lay down


in the center


of your wagon


and let


the flames


take you


as


they


have


taken


that book of scraps.


Lay down,
Trixie.

Lay down


and accept


the pure misery


and agony


that will give way to 


something


(Anything.)


more beautiful


and less painful


than this


existence.


“Everyone else
will just be forgiven for anything
While you are guilty
of 
everything.”

It’s a wicked life,
Isn’t it
Trixie?

Feels almost as if


you were meant to be crushed.

Meant to believe in love.

Built to break.



An army of



An army of



An army of



(You and who’s?)


…


…



You still have a friend.


You have not met them yet.



Yet they are there.


In some distant timeline.


She loved you.



She loved you.



(Love?)


Don’t get your hopes up.


An army of


And yet,
Why are you still


trying so hard


to please


all who despise you?



(I just want—)

What?

(I just—)

…

(Want to be…)





(Loved.)







It’s a wicked life,
        Isn’t it
Trixie?

Your shoulders were not meant to hold this weight.

After all—
You were

(Built to break.)



An army of


Yes,
All it is
Is


An army of


Imperfect animals


An army of


Imperfect animals


An army of imperfect animals



An army of


Imperfect animals


Demanding perfection


From other armies of


Imperfect animals



All those little cells


Little animals


Troops marching in their units


Units marching as the army


That you are


Orders from
high command
do not reach
each
battalion

and each battalion


will not listen


the same


as they


once did.


Each imperfect animal
Holds the power

To rebel

These armies
will collapse
from within

just as readily


as they fall


to


one


another.


The army of

(imperfect animals


that


i


am)


the way it fought so valiantly


against any and all.



yet,

you, yourself
just an

(imperfect animal.)


rebelling in


your army of


(imperfect animals.)


Waiting, to see


if any part of your army of


(imperfect animals.)


will turn


all to teeth


to

consume
you
from
within.


Her eyes, your mother’s eyes,


they were dull


until her day


of reckoning

until the revolution
took her away
from you.

and the sun?

you hate the sun.

you wish,


in your darkest night

that even the moon did not reign your life

after all


what is it but


just cold sunlight


No sun.


No heat.


No moon.


(not even the stars.)



A cold, dead world.

A void,

your life.



And what about

your trust?

your love?


(my hope?)


Did you ever
have any of that

at all?



(...)






Close your eyes.

Dream of the lie.

You will be missed when you die.

(and she might save my life.)

No deus ex

no machina.

when a single soldier falls

the army goes on.

no stars?
no stars.

no light from above


just the glow all around


the flames licking your coat


(and my lungs filled with smoke.)



We are all


An army of imperfect animals


And we are all


All teeth


And know


No


(Hope.)