with any figure one will find sexual satisfaction
but not every body will one connect to
which one am i to you?
i shed the blood of the weak
skin tight and rips bare
is this good enough?
arachnids nest in the crooks of bones
i am what you make of me
chained to the bricks that build up catholicism
brittle, exasperated, unsettled
feet sink in with each step
conception, conceiving
a pluviophile runs rampant in his desert
unsure if they were granted the passageway
i’ve slipped into a rabbit hole now, haven’t i?
brisk dust scratch his name into limbs that won’t stand no longer
broken organ keys play the song of distraction
his face etched in my teeth
the world is falling apart
laundry growing mold in the washer
ribs becoming so sunken
toothbrush bristles detaching themselves
i have the remnants on my breath
eternal bliss unattainable, do you find this funny my creator?