They persist and feast on my **** which is gelatinous and sickly
& paraded by the local
satanic convention

I'm awake at 7am
& Have managed to dream about crickets in prayer

I have no boss
But I still feel subjugated. Maybe some day
I'll be free
when my corneas are fitted for the massacre

I used to love
someone
named Cambria,
now she
sits behind glass unaware
of my existence;
I saw this coming