A piece of meat
that questions itself
flopping and twitching freakishly
infected with conscience
we burn
and smile more than we should
walking to the nearest liquor store
we trip a wrong turn
and dream what cockroaches
dream
chuggin clorox bleach
she whispers with her eyes
her neck turns too far
and i hear bottleglass
scraping across the pavement
picking at scabs with ambition
to bleed
my vomit slithers toward you
rubbing your ass across the grass
moaning obscenities
gangrape is an artform
my cock is cold and loves to cut you
pull it tight around my throat
and masturbate this slowburn
i want to bleed you
fuck you, kill you, love you
blessed be the sun
