Snort the snow,
feel the beats of my heart in tune with yours.

Beat, beat. Beat, beat.

Beat me down off this futon
and drag my bleeding corpse to the bathroom.

I was dead when I arrived.

I shiver with anticipation as your fingers, cold as death,trace the crooked notches of my spine.
You lean in to kiss my sweating neck, “What a novelty,” I think, but your fingers reach it first.

Nails in skin and blood on the tile.

My blood on the tile.
Beat, beat me with a shampoo bottle ironically emboldened with the phrase,
“NO MORE TEARS,” but I can taste salt. Are those my tears?
Or your come on and spit in my eye.

Tell me, beat, beat, tell me...

What will you do next?

You ******* rag tag vagabond infecting my ***.