There are nights when I run out of flesh,
of skin and bones
to melt,
to offer,
to fill this glaring pit,
now just a rusting can of worms
There are nights when my soul wraps itself
in silken ribbons and velvet gowns
slipping slowly off this skin:
a striptease for death;
maybe more.

There are nights when my soul
waits,
stills in a corner
and readies itself for Plath to collect.

Get it all out now —
the linen is too short,
the myrrh, too little
for the allusions and all these twisted laments.

This wake is good for just one tragedy.

Get it all out —
the obvious references,
the tributes to another poet,
who killed herself —

get it all out, little girl.

There is no room for two in a coffin
in a world where
Lady Lazarus dies and stays dead.

i have done it again
once a day,
lean

a sort of walking miracle, my skin,
look at my wrist, about ten
my *******

a paperweight
my body clothed in supreme
and bape

peel off the layers of autotune
do i terrify?
or do the rooftops i jump from come back to haunt me?

the wide nose, the pink and blonde
the dilated eyes
all vanish within a recording session

soon, soon the skin
the thots, the tricks
they will be at home on me

and i, a frowning man
only sixteen
and like the cat, i have nine times to live

this is my last leg,
what trash
what lies we tell

with a million filaments of light
the xanax-crushing crowd
stops for one ******* second

and looks down at the stage
the beat starts, my mouth is powder dry
ladies and gentleman

these are my tattoos,
my war paint,
i may be skin and bones

nevertheless, i am far from who i once was
the first time i drank lean, i was ten
my brother dared me

the second time i meant it,
some way to escape
and become liquid
over beats

when i drank too much, they had to call and call
and wash the ***** off me like bloodthirsty leeches
singing/rapping/living

is an art
and like everything else, i do it way too well
i do it so it feels like midnight

i do it so it feels so real
i guess you could say i’m dope
it’s easy enough to loose hope

it’s easy enough to go crazy waiting for fame
but fame comes, and it plays games
come back with me,

to the same place, the same face,
the same dreaming eyes of a high woman
an amused shout,

get out of here, eskeetit
but there is always a change
for the touching of my hair, there is a change

inside, for the eying of my new gucci sneakers
there is a change inside, that rarely goes outside
and there is a change, a really big change

for any pill or drink
or drug
or a strip of fur or silk that i wear with pride

so, so my child, unborn within a groupie
so, my enemy behind a mic or a show curtain
i am your high

i am everything you ever wanted
the pure silver bullet
that melts with no bang or pop

i turn and burn
do not forget, mama’s still concerned
and and

you push and pull
xannies and perkies, there nothing there
a red stripe

across a wrist with
a broken whiskey bottle.
my mother, my father

remember?
remember?

out of the bitter smoke
i rise with rainbow hair
and i devour pills like air