Monday, March 16, 2015

Slab...

Caught
In a region of cells
That never seem to want to make it past my throat.
I have not yet swallowed those intentions
Of the bodily ingestion of another.
Coasting instead,
On a slab of raw
Nothing.

Behoove
There are reasons,
I must past participle to bypass further offending,
This grasp is tight, worn, anti-ephemeral.
Congested lungs are like a waning gibbous
Decreasing in illumination
Longer still...
I deride.

Contempt
I rot in cognizant waves
Sailing among the flotsam of all I fear.
I've fucked myself, crippling the institution of 'Now'
There must be chunks of what I am made of-
Worthy of abandonment-
In this
Now.

Abatement
The dream of deflowering skin
Feeds in the manner that consumption robbed life
Rotting memories not yet made
Deplorable and poisonous.
Tinkering around with nerve
Only fucks me further
Contaminated.

Disgust
-is a four letter word
Stamped deeply into both palms
Fingerprints now litter counter-tops in desolation
The plastic oasis of unheated thighs
Is as much a contusion as an uneaten fig.
Ripe, rotting-
Ignored.

Abbreviated
My pulse is pissed off
Wasted moisture is no virtue
To love that leans on crutches.
Love, that were it given a reason to leap
Might burst in the swell of all its containment
Away from the chatter
Alive.

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