“Strawberry Moon”

a longing held between

pincher finger and thumb,

I hold it away from myself, so it wont

Morph into something i can't control

a compulsion that drives the nail in

Nothing has ever been better for me

Then when you deign to speak to me

i sit at my kitchen table,

Scratching verses into paperwhite flesh,

Tomato juice swills around my festering gums,

Attacking my swollen tongue,

i wonder whether this slow death is a relief

Or a simpler way to be done already