I can't write this poem
I sit up like a pig & see a half baked moon
Your reason for dissertion & death was inadequate and thus we sentence you to death
My ***** are warm
I'm so alone that I have dreams with no one in them
I'll write a song sometimes while asleep & awake in disgust
As I realize it's a beetle
These quizzical looks warm my starchy heart
Who knew crying was the remedy for sadness
, The only ones who care are your moths and they barely even do
I hope I see you again someday when you're shrunken and pleading for
****** blood
These days wrap around me like a prayer
left unanswered since January so
I drive my car to the Chinese shop
& Squat next to
A bearded man playing a grey shoe