My camera,  filled with flowers too shiny and cold to grasp,  the feel of a baseball bat,  sitting on canvas alongside  your brothers and friends. You ask too much of me I said,  you ask too much to be watered and bathed and fed to me intravenously.  The more pictures I take the sadder I get,  one more little flash and I think I might spit.  I leave you alone in your white box,  I hop on the road of a thousand ripped papers,  I thought it was enough to forget the bad taste,  I thought it was enough to just leave with much haste.  But no.  It's not I don't care anymore.  I'd rather be there than sitting alone,  with a camera on a chair.  I'd rather eat yards of purple raw flesh and squeeze pulp from a lung through fine mesh,  than sit one more time here with that tone and play with a button tied to a phone.  Driving alongside the repeating roadside thought I might see you,  and sitting there I thought why not see you.  I never thought it was glutton I really was eager,  to see,  and feel,  and want to be either,  at home or in love,  or one in between.  But that doesn't matter-  it's not great there.  I went alone,  with a truck full of ether and a patch on my arm where on my skin was a lever,  to crawl,  to open and see her at once,  i collapsed and saw nothing it was a dead end.  I'd still do it again,  and I don't know why.  But I can't stop.  It's deep in my thigh,  The needle of water you pumped in my vein,  to erase all my thoughts of ever escaping my brain.  Now I'm alone,  and I really won't need you.  But seeing as I do,  I might as well feed you.  Being sick, that makes you disgusting,  feeling no anger makes you worth trusting,  I hope.  I don't. Ever See.  your stupid flower. again.