What you see here, my dear
Is mere mierde if I dare
It does compare not a hair
Not worth a tare or pinch of air
To what lies beneath
I might bequeath a brief peek
To see the sights you seem to seek
You might suspend disbelief
If you could peep how deep
The iceberg creeps
You might weep
You might cheer
To know it all
Does not end here
You might smile
You might despair
All the while
It does not compare
To know the completeness of a creature
Is no feat where feet could span the feature
Noses, eyes, hairs and thighs are not enough for believing
Toes, ears, fingers and beards are actually quite deceiving
They in no way describe the tangled mass
Of love and hurt that's stored within
It does not compare, it's much too vast
This universe we grow inside our skin.

I'll probably wake up sobbing again tomorrow
Don't mind my drunken confessions
I have the tolerance of a gnat
But the emotional girth of an elephant
Weighing my light body down
That's my tragedy I suppose
If I were to be dramatic
Though drama emits catharsis
Drama is meaning and beauty - creation
In short: not me
In other words
I'm love sick
Sick for it
Sick with it
Sick in its absence
Just straight fuckn sick
Don't mind my vulgarity
It is what one uses
When convention fails
Expletives are the outcasts in language
They wear leather and smoke all night
While the rest of the dictionary
Sleep, pay taxes, and attend PTA meetings
Profane words are death row inmates
Offering their final translucent confessions
Stripped of pomp or rhetoric
****. Mierde. Hijo de la puta madre.
There I go again
It's late and I'm on my third drink
And am becoming vaguely beautiful
In spite of the tarantula
Crawling inside me, through me
Its prickly legs sprawling
Its ugliness spreading
Until I feel like clawing
Clawing at my breast
To get it out
Get it out!
Anyhow, I'll let you sleep
Shhhhh....shhhhh....
it's fine, really
Come morning I will sob on my stoli-scented pillows
While others yawn and smack their alarm clocks...