I'm tired.

I numb with music, substitute

feeling with sharpness, taste of blood

oranges.
Stars and citrus.
Words are jumble, speak and stumble--

I say to myself quietus is silence,

better to keep to yourself with your

sarcasm and cuts--numbness and sharpness.  

I practice inhabiting my love letters, my suicide

notes, my little ant cage--

Watch them struggle. How

cute.
Stardom and gods.
A mortal's more fun than gods--

Why practice these strongholds,

these hauntings, this phantasmagoria.

gods are wordplay, they watch us

struggle in little ant cages--watch me stumble,
let me

speak.
Fault and fate.
I promise I am not mean--

I mean--sorry. Forget I said anything.