poetry, Uncategorized

5am June

A big, fat blur.

“What are you thinking about?”

The apocalypse. The way you look spun. Wasted. And how it’s easy for me to add on a pound or two, weave in substance to compensate. Mummify you in caution tape. Make you pretty. Change you.

“What’s going on? What’re ya thinking about?”

The way you taste and smell like a Walmart. The way I threw myself at the wrong dope. Juvenile, infantile, feel sorry for yourself and die awhile. Hush, guinea pig love. Keep it quiet. Don’t claw at me with that third-rate desperation, and keep that petty misery far away. Keep it clean.

“Whatcha thinking about now?”

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