cuntsss

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

i'm sleeping for two on a bed made of skin and wet dreams i have a partner now i'm rarely alone it's exciting and new i caught myself with a shit eating grin for all the right reasons yesterday and if i fuck myself tonight it's because she is tired not because i am alone

ten seventy something men screaming the same death and i'm pissing on the flame of a 'first time virgin' [being broken in] [split and amused] this all means nothing to me white to raw and loss of hair in a matter of seconds planting the seed of distress with one red lined hand [shaken and leaking] [stapled and confused] this all means nothing to me

i bet you'd taste better after the surgery of my left side heals or how i ripped thirteen sutures and strangled every bird in flight until my skin was pale enough to fuck but a jet black execution stomachs more than we can chew so i swallow everything whole to right your wrongs love, miserable prick

it's hotter than hell outside and the american dream is a black cock inside of a white cunt pissing or vomiting in a continuous line while rehearsing the blues for the colorblind and i'm on my fifth heart attack in three months spit on me and spread your knife like legs remind me that i'm your worst fuck ever and leave me before the sun reveals my nude faults

I've seen them angels and the whores they become glass stomachs and a fifty percent chance the child is yours but I keep on drinking and gaining weight bobby told me I stopped breathing in my sleep the other night that was the best news I had heard all month I celebrated by spending the extra three bucks for the good stuff but the mornings have been more awkward lately and I can't even stand the smell of myself anymore if you can spare a dollar or two it's nice to meet you

from a second story fire escape I watch the prostitutes waltz to the cry of the car alarm symphony the hum of this city is my warm orgasm ripening, spreading and pulsating concealing our worst fears that occupy these streets kids setting their hands on fire and coffee stained books leaking into bent necks and modern dance oh how we danced oh how we fucked

deadbeats in debt and our shoes are only clean at funerals THE EVENING NEWS DOESN'T CARE ABOUT US ANYMORE! it's always global warming or a dirty priest a suicidal child actor and an incurable disease tell me about a cure for the: madness              loneliness                              empty pockets                                                     empty beds tell me where to get the cheapest drink in town tell me where the cunts go when the sun goes down tell me anything but the bullshit you've told me lately I found myself asking the bums for change last night we shared a bottle under the bridge and everything is a

queer foot on the brake and I'm pissing the bed again, buk there's two men in the street yelling about a dead dog I'm down to my last dollar and last call was an hour ago it's getting serious, buk