I can’t hear a goddamned thing

get out
get out
get out
get out of my skin and help me
there’s no place like it and
you were fabulous yet this floor
is hard and dirty
and my face is going to snap
like that swing that killed your brother.

At least the sleep will do us good
sleep and reach into these pockets
for a glamorous note
telling our future for only a dollar
from the mouth
of a pirate
a porpoise
a platypus
any creature dying on the sand
and cradled for selfies
rather than being given back to the sea
to breathe.
No one is breathing anymore
we’re all gasping
gasping to fill ourselves
but it’ll never fill.

This floor smells like wet dog
you told me you don’t have any pets
did you lie or is it me?
Is it Old Yeller?
The ending would do me good.
At least the pasta was rich and warm and plentiful.
Let us choke on the daylight
and lack of sleep
let us choke on emptiness
and disconnectedness
and desire
let us choke on each other
and go down breathing.

Let us go down breathing.


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