Silence echoes,
yet it sounds like laughter.

Wide open.

The throttle.

The tap.

Whatever.
Whatever analogy floats your boat.

Let it flow,
let it
roar.

Watch the numbers shrink.
The gifted numbers,
the heirlooms,
the legacy of ancestors.

Watch the needle race from
full to empty.

Watch it all swirl
clockwise
down the metaphorical drain.

Find me sprawled.

Hungry.

Fiending.

Find me when it's all gone
and you won't even recognize me.

You'll look down,
pitiless,
and I won't even notice you were there.

Finally.
Ahh, this again,
it's what I've been craving.
This sense
of brutal satisfaction,
of severe attraction,
laced with indulgence.
I'll watch it turn blue.
I'll drown it in purples,
I'll throttle it with a deluge
of various temperatures.

And when.
When you're dry
and spent.
I'll cover you
with hard love.
Like nothing.
Like long yearned for
dribbles of feral
ecstasy.

My friends all talk to each other,
sometimes they address me.
Only every now and then though,
and usually to try and sell something.
My friends are voices, voices in the car.
Voices in my apartment,
voices coming from afar.
My friends are always there,
always willing to talk.
My friends don't really know me,
but I know all of them.
I know them well,
they share everything.
My friends are the voices,
I listen to them so that
I don't have to listen
to myself.

There's not a thing in the world
more liberating than
not holding it in any more.

Just letting it go.

Taking a massive diarrhea
while standing in the shower.

Don't believe poetry.

Positive