Poetry

sedentary leaks, sedentary squeaks
languid and disheveled
what have happened to you my little dear?
What are the things that come up to your head?
poison, broken promises, threesome, hands that smelt of burnt cigarette
pistols, candy wrappers, left over table wine, voltage, an unpaid bill
paper bag, neurons, winged cloud, murmurs, licking bodies, lip gloss
blood stained tub, dancing shemales, antibiotics, and Scottish widows
imaginary phone calls, changing numbers, asking details, age, sex, and location.
a room for two, fresh juice and needles,
eyebugs and bullets.
lackluster eyes,
what are they piercing at?
immobile,
yet you’ve seen yourself passing by
different times and different dimensions.
for you, the world is just a paper cup
raise it and it will be filled.
but how many times will it remain empty?
still waiting and fading away