“THE STARS LOOK BEAUTIFUL TONIGHT,” SUNG MY MATTRESS TO THE CEILING

Beneath the moon, beneath Barbara’s stern love

the fog is coming back. It cries

I’m not a bird

anymore,

footnote in mid-air 

which is to say I loathe you, and I don’t think I can stop –

you like running your nails over the skin of your face?

stripping the sludge from your pores?

scratch the surface of your skeleton, it’s still not deep enough.

Why on earth would you bother with me? I’m not an organ donor

I’m just incoherent with anti-lust,

black hole in my chest –

Prometheus – eat your heart out – 

or however that story goes.

The ick

comes back 

again

and again

and again

and again

and again

and again

and again

and again

and again

blink fast to cut the images –

I can’t get off this beach

and I know I let you do this to me 

but I fucking hate you for it.

Woke up with blood you in my mouth again –

can’t you just leave me alone?

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash