Perfect, perfect, perfect
Whisper nothings against my cheek.
Take me - in your warm grip.
Im yours, my love.

Do you love me like I love you?
Overthinking the slightest twitch - flinch
But you’re here. You’re here.
It’s perfect for now.

Sell my body. Photos. Fleeting hands.
For your attention. For your love.
Do you want this? You’re buying it.
Bile rises. Snap. Fingers go numb. Snap.
I dont want this. Would you love me
Without? If I was a cloud. A vapor.
Would you still be here?
Do you even want this? What do you want?

are you listening to my muttered cries?
questions spilling from my brain like an oil leak.
can you give me an answer? stardust from your lips.
I want to know you. do you know me?
feel my life draining. heels digging in the dirt.
this is it, my love. don't worry anymore. I love you.

Is it something that I know or thoughts from elsewhere?
Im falling farther, farther, farther. Where am I?
It’s 2008, again. Looking in from a grainy lens, it’s real.
Why when the pixels align it’s so blurry?

I’m going insane. That same little girl couldn’t relate
To this- to me. Who is me? Is it her or something else,
A festering monster swept in by harrowing riptides?
This is it. Sewage for brains, trash bags for lungs.
She couldn’t relate to this.

I’m here. I am. Am I?
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
Where are you? Spinning with everyone else.
Spinning, spinning, spinning
Around the cosmos.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
Take. Give. Stay in place.
A nihilistic mural to a golden globe.
so rare, so expensive, so lusted.
The dog found some in the backyard.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
I’m here...

It’s piling, flake by flake, covering, trapping me inside.
The last spark from a street light plummets. It’s dark.
The window is covered. I’m covered.
What is this? Where am I? Forever gone?
The heat goes out. Seats get cold. Silence.
Utter silence.

I feel gross. Do you feel it to?
Organs melting, disintegrating,
Slopping out of my nose, mouth, pores.
Bubbling goo at my feet. Im empty.
Im not. Im a million things, but there’s only one.
Decay. Withering. Its starting, as my fingers
Turn to ash, falling like snow to trampled guts.
Im empty. Im not.