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.