How can you tell if you have the mark of Cain?
You feel like you never fit in.
You’re paranoid,
you think everyone is antagonized by you,
so you mostly sit quietly—
or don’t you wish you did, as you over-eagerly
dominate every discussion?
You want to make sure everything is OK,
so you go sit with people even when you know
you’ve already made them uncomfortable.
It’s not that they hate you;
they just wish you would stop talking.
You feel like an imposter,
so you try to imagine the real Cain
roaring in the desert,
roaming the world alone,
living in a cave.
Does Cain feel bad about being shunned by all,
as he sits in the white cone of his flashlight
beside all the newspapers he brought up here to read?
hearing a scary rustling.
The real Cain enters, wearing nothing
but a loincloth—but why
does he bother to wear even that?
picking his teeth,
the bones of all the pathetic wannabe Cains
shoved into piles behind him.
