Here lies my written work, etched into the flesh of god himself.
My room is often so dirty
I sometimes think I was built for the dirt
beercan duvet tucked to my chin,
I bleed in the metal, the edge of the ring pull hurts
the baby boy eats his birthday cake until he throws up.
the baby boy gets cradled in his mothers arms.
my cradle is stained
Hurling, pouring myself out of bed
bleeding carpet hairs infiltrate the space between my toes
air of doom and smoke and knives
interfacing muscles to the bathroom
rags scratch and squeeze
the bathroom is equally trashed
the shower has stickers, the mirror has a gash
through the imprints I see
Knots and stains and pores and rot.
beige yellow brown red
I love me. I love me. I love me. I say
Divine light reflects on the walls
who are you?
I live in heaven
The heaven I have built for myself
will the tooth fairy take my teeth?
can I cash a crinkled check?
will my rotten bars harsh my tender love songs?
will my kisses give you a disease?
will the porn star shake my hand without a glove?
will my screams become maniacal and lost with nobody to listen?
Will the light of god not reflect from my unpearly gates?
Do you blame the stone thrower or do you blame the stone?
Do you kill the man or do you set ablaze his home?
Can I watch myself disintegrate and weep and cry and moan,
then wake up in the morning to talk to whom I yearn,
expect the love, the warmth, the scars of feelings, strong and stern?
Or do I deal the deuce and seven, the heaven of the turn?
Can I eat a feast and tame the beast and calmly hold another?
Or shall I starve and wait and pray then burn a killer's mother?