the femininity which feeds me also bites my tongue,
metallic and warm, you sit there with my deceased muscle,
begging to bleed, begging to beat under sporadic sun.
i cannot hear a word amongst this deafening bustle.
intoxicated, emancipated, yet there is a lust for sheer hunger
we scream, as drunken poets into air that is dead
all we yearn for is the wonder we possessed when we were younger,
and lament over phrases spoken in my head.
i do not fear anymore, for i have kissed each variation of death
we are well acquainted, you see, much to your dismay
i’ll save your name for my final breath,
for it was you all along who led me astray.