in a spare room, on a spare day
spare life, sparing no detail of this stained
window. broke in lusty balled fists
while i ask myself why it is i do this…
self pity drifter
cries at the spilled memory of moms cooking-
end of reel, cut the tape
wrap it up, take it away.
i don’t even like getting fucked
like i used to
I’m used to being used
it stings a little
from the raw scars you left me on
the crescent dip of my left leg.
you left me amidst the hungry ghost drifts,
piling up from neglect,
like dust bunnies with silent eyes
who watch as you decay.
no one will let me curl up in their arms
(without a token of payment)
no one will touch my hair while i cry
unless I touch them in ways that
burn the skin off.
the roof of my mouth
too hot coffee, acrid sizzle
another month bleeding,
scarlet thighs inherited debt
(it hurts to walk)
it hurts to feel i close you out theres no way in—
open the door a sliver
i can push a note through. character scrawl