I wish there was a word for my
mixed-up,
leftover insides.

I am my own Temple of Doom.
I will or I won't
Bring you to swoon.
Get me the spoon.
I am Captain: Ben and Jerry's
Vessel be my scurvy.
Mastering epitome, feeling marscapone:
I am the color of your liver.

If I put on a hoodie, I feel more "me", but where was I left?
Where am I grazing?
Surely it's on greener pastures?

Am I dead?
Who are you?
Is this what we're all searching for?
Separation?

I ran the decathalon; choke down my python.
There's a fire in your mouth.
Let me put it out.