I don’t think things through.
Pensive punishment for anything slightly out of place,
n’importe quoi
I overthink.

Husband: I want a dog.
Wife: What! Why?
Husband: I need the company.
Wife: But, what about me?
Husband: You're just a ***** cat.

The beautiful sky smiles, why don’t you.
The merciless sky cries, why don’t you.
The sky is open. Open yourself up to me. Be like the sky you raven.

Hounded.
Nailed.
Arms outstretched.
Guilty by association.

Wanting cleanliness.
Wanting more.
Greed.
Lusting.
Guilty as charged.

It’s hard to be your own person,
to move your singular body in its own direction,
when every corner is already crowded by other thoughts.
Your limbs brimming with self-loathing again, brilliant.
Bubbles of spit boasting as they frame your thirsty lips.
You’re picking blood-stained fingernails with yellowing teeth that never knew the curling cradle of a smile.
At a loss for embrace,
Fake hair plastered by stained sweat to your forehead.
There, in the hollows of your forehead, permanent lines appear prematurely, paving the way for the end of your rabbit hole, spiraling.
Head so full of heavy thoughts that your necks snaps.

Describe him.
- He was dripping with sweat.
- Was it sweet?
- What?
  Oh, um I dunno.
- sigh
- But I know this much.
  He sweated under my weight.
  The nocturnal wind would then dry his sweat stiff.
  And he, perserverant as ever, would just sweat some more.
- Ok, so who collapsed first?

Recoil. And recoil fast.
She was of simple taste so He shattered her veiny lungs with his spit almost effortlessly.
Under his weight she was stunted, her limbs frozen by the constant of his blarring audioporn.
At every touch she had to brace herself for his embrace.