i hate the lies everyone says to
me, i tear myself down enough,
can’t you see, ill lay in bed
tell myself it’ll be alright

I'm tired.

I numb with music, substitute

feeling with sharpness, taste of blood

oranges.
Stars and citrus.
Words are jumble, speak and stumble--

I say to myself quietus is silence,

better to keep to yourself with your

sarcasm and cuts--numbness and sharpness.  

I practice inhabiting my love letters, my suicide

notes, my little ant cage--

Watch them struggle. How

cute.
Stardom and gods.
A mortal's more fun than gods--

Why practice these strongholds,

these hauntings, this phantasmagoria.

gods are wordplay, they watch us

struggle in little ant cages--watch me stumble,
let me

speak.
Fault and fate.
I promise I am not mean--

I mean--sorry. Forget I said anything.

my bones, too,
are getting old.
ive tried hard to maintain a meaningful existence.
harder than anyone ive ever known.
and yet we all meet the same bitter end.

what are you doing?

salting my wounds

so they hurt more?

so they last longer

breathing you in
and hoping
it will give me the breath
i need to survive.