Depression is the glint in our eyes
you mistake for joy
when the moon frolics the sun
into a harsh orgasm – and it ebbs-
birthright for a hot potato

Yearning is a suicide note
that was never written

Happy birthday is a smug on a on a cup
a kiss…dripping red- red red blood
on a skin long ashen,
and grief peeling off, with a slight rub
cheese is agony on a portrait
photographed into a soul
long forgotten how to smile

Sex is leprosy
tiny butterflies scuttling
on grave boils
chewing their wings
till what is left are

Death is eating a cake
stabbing an index finger
into its soul and watching it bleed
sultry memories

Grief is a widow at night
stabbing her first son
and using his little chopped off
carcass to wade off little
drumped up joy

Love is this gathering round the embers of pain

To grin at the suicide signing joyous hymns in our eyes

We're legion

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.