sub-compact

if you are in pain

then my heart aches
too...

at high noon i puked
all over my brand new
shoes

now it is 2:40 in the morning; i am shopping
for sub-compact hand guns and drinking
coffee

i can still smell it on me.
i can still smell it on me!

stumbling down a hallway that i don't own,
punching 11 digits into a telephone
i don't pay for...

big surprise: no answer-

there is something worse than cancer growing
inside of where a bloody, coronary entity
used to beat

me up and taste my blood, love.

moving backwards through the same hall
nothing is true when lies suffice-

(indeed, all is false)

a mistake made. i call then i fall
and begin to fade...

that airport toilet stall will never escape
or evade my memory- yet, you have left
an impression and i am leaving-

a free for all that comes less than cheap...

the working poor no longer even inspire
grief; they are worth every piece
of my teeth, though

don't you know that you can never, and
will never, know anything?

it is now 2:50 and the gun is in the mail,
the dog is on the bed, the cat is the bag.

jet lag and a broken heart catching
up to me finally-

lean back into the nicotine breeze,
kiss your own feet, and open
those eyes a bit too wide

when you feel- not hear- my body
leaving this existence.

in a few minutes.
in a few minutes!