His arms were as welcoming
as the outside world to a hermit,
as warm as that winter.
Hiss. Arms were as welcoming
as the inside of my arm when I carved it,
as cold as a fever.
Welcome. To the longest half walk
of half shame,
of half a dick fit,
and the other was lonely as fuck.
My tongue was swirling with the poetry
of a million virgins
taking it up the arse.
My lashes were so clumped together,
my blind side could tell I was crying.
My feet were so bloody
pressing on the pavement,
they looked like a sacrifice to
all of the men who said were Satan.
This is more than half lines full of pretty;
these are half lines full of dried cum,
of unpleasant filling,
of broken skin
in the corner of my lips.
This is more than Whitman with a limp
this is the pain of a twisted ankle
if one had twenty ankles
all twisted at the same time.
His words were as soothing
as iodine on a cut,
as calm as a storm.
Hiss. Words were as soothing
as a tongue on a cut,
as angry as a breeze.
Soothe. The longest night of the year
with the lack of compassion,
the lack of a voice,
the lack of a heart,
and the lack of the pills.


Because it feels like
you shed a bit of your skin
and then
when it hurts the most
you bite
your lip, the pillow, the walls, the time
that passes without
the words you never said
because it felt like
your tongue was sewn
on the roof of your mouth
because it felt like
it wouldn’t want to move.
Weep but such is the silence
of the room
the loudest of yells could not
break it.
Because it feels like
you bleed a bit of your heart
and then
when it hurts the most
you sleep
shallow, sweaty, sinful, surrender.
Because it feels like
your eyes are glued together
and then
when it hurts the most
the sun rises yet again
the morning, the coffee, the shit, the shower.
Because it feels like
life dribbles on
and then
when it hurts the most
the hole opens wide
to swallow, to hiss, to chew and to spit.
Because it feels like
nothing at all
and then
like all in the world.