by Shayne Edwin Pruett
i am burnt out because i am a plaything.
all toys run out of their batteries eventually, right?
i've been passed around, hands and hands, ive got my button eyes –
i've lost my homely scent.
acres of nothing and cotton falling out of my stomach.
my throat grows hoarse reciting your name every night
before i fall asleep.
speakers bleed the tails of my entrails,
a small possession for every fingernail i've seen on the ground.
i breathe in roundwound circles and can no longer walk in straight lines.
my thoughts escape me, this cannot go on forever.
there is a puddle of water near my outlet. fuck me if you dare.