Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language and mature content.
I think the nights have swallowed me.
I’ve known the minutes;
festered for many in the gut
of a sick whale,
moonlight warping its flexed
sometimes I pray to be coughed up,
unresigned to gracing the wait-line
till I drip into the bladder cavity and
die in shapeless pieces.
Girls keep asking me questions-
(“Excrete with me?”
No fucking thank you.)
-if you like that kind of thing.
Maybe it would be easier
to die in someone else’s
No sun pressing flush to my
cheeks, or that street beggar tinkering with my gears
like I’ll let him keep one if they fall out.
But like always, I think again and
remember glimpsing your eyes:
ensnared in the jaws of morning.
It’s been awhile since I’ve slept,
but I think it's a good thing