My camera, filled with flowers too shiny and cold to grasp, the feel of a baseball bat, sitting on canvas alongside your brothers and friends. You ask too much of me I said, you ask too much to be watered and bathed and fed to me intravenously. The more pictures I take the sadder I get, one more little flash and I think I might spit. I leave you alone in your white box, I hop on the road of a thousand ripped papers, I thought it was enough to forget the bad taste, I thought it was enough to just leave with much haste. But no. It's not I don't care anymore. I'd rather be there than sitting alone, with a camera on a chair. I'd rather eat yards of purple raw flesh and squeeze pulp from a lung through fine mesh, than sit one more time here with that tone and play with a button tied to a phone. Driving alongside the repeating roadside thought I might see you, and sitting there I thought why not see you. I never thought it was glutton I really was eager, to see, and feel, and want to be either, at home or in love, or one in between. But that doesn't matter- it's not great there. I went alone, with a truck full of ether and a patch on my arm where on my skin was a lever, to crawl, to open and see her at once, i collapsed and saw nothing it was a dead end. I'd still do it again, and I don't know why. But I can't stop. It's deep in my thigh, The needle of water you pumped in my vein, to erase all my thoughts of ever escaping my brain. Now I'm alone, and I really won't need you. But seeing as I do, I might as well feed you. Being sick, that makes you disgusting, feeling no anger makes you worth trusting, I hope. I don't. Ever See. your stupid flower. again.