rolling 3: the drop

I am an emotional bruisejob

Living a devotional chess game

And playing both sides.

Drinking Perrier and eating oranges,

And masturbating in the shower,

And crying into my pillows,

My aches hurt as prettyblue as

The bruises on my elbows

And the crooks of my arm

(That you left behind)

And the bruises on my

Melting ice-chip throat

(From the bitter white shouting)

And the bruises on my

Squelchy- heart

(As soft as a bruised apple)

I want to be left alone

With everyone else—

In the city

In the supermarket

In the bars on the corners

In the bedrooms fucking

Together brightly.