I can't write this poem

  I sit up like a pig & see a half baked moon

Your reason for dissertion & death was inadequate and thus we sentence you to death

My ***** are warm

I'm so alone that I have dreams with no one in them

I'll write a song sometimes while asleep & awake in disgust
As I realize it's a beetle

These quizzical looks warm my starchy heart

Who knew crying was the remedy for sadness
, The only ones who care are your moths and they barely even do

I hope I see you again someday when you're shrunken and pleading for
      ****** blood

These days wrap around me like a prayer
      left unanswered since January so
I drive my car to the Chinese shop
& Squat next to
A bearded man playing a grey shoe