She said there are things I’d like to do
before I die, but I have no time.
So as her mouth made love to her cigarette
I thought about all the time wasted
giving head to white sticks
made of nicotine and death.
Every time used for touching yourself
inappropriately hoping to God
your dead grandmother cannot see you
or all the times spent ******* someone
whom you only wanted ‘cause they made you wet.

Every second taken to check yourself
in the mirror, cracked from becoming
so drunk you threw your door open in rage,
breaking it against a rack filled with shoes
you never needed. The minutes and hours
spent sinking, like quicksand into the fibers
of a couch watching images that never tell
you anything different, flicker inside a box
made of plastic and wires.

All the time accumulated like dust
under a rug, sitting and thinking
about everything you could be doing
or all the people you never saw more
of because you’re too busy.
She said there are things I would like to do
before I die, I have a list, flicking
a climaxed filter to the ground
forgetting the time she spent to **** it down.