I wish the words would drip, drip like beehive honey in my IV.
I say give me speech, life and sustenance because I'm done for in this town,
I'm disappearing with the moon and the goddamn fancy-pants terms that won't speak to me. She said ask the coroner,
there will be ink in her veins but I was looking just this morning and mine are empty; pen and paper garbage.
And there are maggots in my spinal cord swimming in dirt and the right side of my brain.
I'm awful, really, just bent over, sitting here and it's
sexsexsex.

But more like the absence of anything else to talk about because, you see, I want to fuck him
therefore I am an unclean, hopeless floozy who happens to be bored
and my time is running away
and my purpose likes to play hide & seek or better yet, on the rainy days, a fun game called "Let's Fuck With Dee."
and and and

I cannot write.

Not worth a damn or a penny or a shiny, brand new fu-
firetruck.

I have become tired of all this subliminal crap. I want to be a cannon, where the boys are.
Blast off! Heave ho! Or whatever.
I'd be right in your face, where you close your eyes and I'd be bloody rich.
Oh God, I could be so rich and bloody. But then I'd have to choose who to call master
and to be honest, I'm a shameless opportunist of a whore who's no good with decisions.
You can't hear me but that was a loud sigh because this sucks and I am
the trashmanwoman, sandmanwoman.

There's a train dragging me up towards the gates of heaven-hell and a baby by my bed.
I think the sun rose a couple hours ago.