BoySlut

 

assholes

 

 

I awoke

with my spinal cord

detached

from the stem

of a once

beautiful

rose

 

bitter brae`s

have lost

their dimension

of poetry

 

water writhes

trying

to break free

from the depth

of its

arid ocean

 

and I’m dying

for a thirst

of your

misery

 

’cause I have this poem here

see

 

but you`d rather I recite

the deficit

of poets

with ingenious titles

 

I don’t have time

to be

what’s proper

 

time is ticking

and the world is running out

of assholes

to shove my poetry in