Poor Dead Soulless Dick

You’ve become as soft as your ever-soft prick.

between my ears

It’s all gone to hell.

meanwhile

I bet you thought it would be different, being human.

just words

Poetry is only a moment.

CLARIFY

I write what I feel, and I let it go.

Wolves

We point at the path of sticky entrails and we blame you.

Rightly So

There is mad, mad joy to be found.

dead me, dead you

This can’t bode well, can it?

bursting

Living in my head, it’s not such a bad thing.

YOU CAN’T SAY THAT, PT ∞

Not my personal Jesus.