my existence
is that of procrastination
biding my time
until the clock ticks out

father time
will have no ***** left to
give, and mother
nature will have
jogged her course

there's nothing left for
me here. raucous chatter,
degradation via insolence,
disregard for basic human
life

******* on my virtues,
scraping up my vices
(like gravy curds left on ham)
you pick me apart
and throw me to my bed

so I can dig my fingernails into
my upperthigh and muse
on regret and self-hatred and
the mistake of my

existence, as I wait
for father time
to grow tired of me
as well

one
tumbled
out of the womb
convulsing
like a breakdancer

five
posed with
lights & cigarettes,
light

eight
lipstick smeared
giddily on the
backhand

twelve
bought birth control
shared among friends
pills split with a jacknife

sixteen
fascinated by
violet waves
& crystal castles

twenty-one
cancer of the soul
flask in her ribs
she moves
among suitors
like whispers of fame

twenty-two
nosering replaced
polished for the wake
croptop in the casket

you are
the heckler in the crowd
trying to rip out
the rug from
beneath my toes

silent was the treatment
firm was my resolve
indifference
between books,
tables, & legs.

it lasted until
the viewing party

preening, fresh
dye, a new luster to
your slick, sheared visage
you smile & draw
a little bit of blood

it comingles with your own
hot & thick,

(they await
with baited breath
the proper demise
of union that never was)

& slackjawed, wide
eyed, resolve dis-
solved

I set you
on a pedestal again