Tuesday, August 12, 2014



the flowers need water
I have let things slip 
they weigh me down 
with the present
eat everything I breathe
like dangerous animals, 
free, and completely empty

I am a new persona
until there is little
left to do but sleep
I dream 
about alcoholic binges 
one night stands 
in bathhouses 
with the thick vapor of lust
and cold 
mouths sucking
on my face

I am wrapped 
inside my own
mirror laughing, struggling
until I break loose
step on the needle shards
of my life
tamed, old, fat
looking for a way out
of this room 
where I once felt
the need to write 
about myself
until the tulips turned red

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