two years ago
this shit was pouring out of me,
and now i've gotta
stick two fingers down my throat
and pull it out of my stomach,
and tell my mother it was the meat
it was the milk
it was the smell of rotten eggs,
it was the rotting in my head
it don't matter, cause i feel pure after. like the Virgin Mary;
her stomach full of Jesus,
his body soft,
to cushion the nails,
his body soft,
to soak up the sin
the way i
stick two fingers in my cunt to
make my hips feel full
when the birth control is
pulling all the little angels out of my belly,
when my stomach is freshly empty
but i put two fingers in and
fill it up to the brim and
it leaks around the sides of my fingers like hot sweet jelly,
the color of gooey magma.
the way i
stick two fingers in the foil bag of hot cheetos to
melt them on my tongue and
be a dragon for 10 minutes feel strong like some warrior fighting fire not melting in the heat like i always do,
and lick the pure sodium, lick it out from under my claws and
taste the dirt under there from
when I was digging a hole in the ground to
bury the rat that died in the dog food bag at the back of the garage,
and wondered how long it would take to dig my grave
beside it
wondered how dissapointed my
mother would be painting her
nails before my funeral
how sad she would be to have to tell everyone her daughter buried herself next to a fucking rat
how sad she would be with
her finger tips glossy
like liquor store sign neon on a red Mercedes Benz
and under her daughters nails are Cheetoh crumbs and the taste of the soap scum she was scraping off the inside of the shower
the way i've gotta
stick two fingers down my throat to pull it all out again
