What I keep inside my mouth
is something I'm nervous about.
Awkward, yes. Worth mentioning, meh.

This overthinking stains the words
and those daydreams about living it
won't become a reality. It's simply evil,
this unfair lottery of life.

The right hand sucker of the queen
coma, the bottomfeeder down the stage;
This cigarette calms it all. So good it
wanders through my system down
up to the thinker:
fight FIRE with FIRE!

****.

One plucks one, nobody notices
one's missing.
One plucks one more, still the same.
One plucks some more;
Two, three or more will pluck it all.
There. It's bald.
Saggy skin. It's disgusting but
at least other than being
vague and absurd,
it's the real thing.

Is this pretentious?

Pretentious.

Can you tell me? I can't
tell which is which and
what is real from, "****
it's happening,"
will you?

you're not built for this but
I do hope they have insurance
in heaven


(or at least do refunds)