666

me, draped in patchy olive green

you, the space in between everything i don’t want to look at

so much i would like to demolish

i still love the sound of the garbage truck arriving

i lay hoping that the viscosity behind my eyes

will pass and wondering if the drilling

that i hear outside is in fact somehow happening

inside of my skull

if perhaps invisible metal is at work on my temples

ripped skin curls upon itself

oils seeping at the fractures

beside it a clump of slime contained by

fuzzy white trash

all this sits on your bedding

what’s more is the shoes were too small

and you still walked home in them

today was a mirage