in the last seven minutes
i have thought about you dead
i thought about the time
i finger fucked you while you slept
i thought about the real love that money,
immaturity and lies have taken from us

and now

i think about spending the rest of my life alone
i think about spending the rest of my life in the bars
i think about spending the rest of my life in the street

or i think about not spending it at all

this is not poetry
this is pain in my chest and in my gut
this is pain in my hands and in my head

you will never read this
and i will never write it again

you always hated my poetry anyway
and for that i love you