remember when i used this space
was it for publishing? for expression? companionship?
remember how i used to complain about being abused
did i talk about the fantasies?
i'm always lagging on social media
i think that's my "thing".
buildings with their exposed pillars graffed.
bridges with visible rot.
ideologies whose words are all dead.
i've been couch-surfing.
i tend to think in terms of furnished and barren.
and considering how obsessed i've been
with never being able to have kids,
the dichotomy my skin used to protect
has gotten flipped.
"well, i could probably hold a job,
if i got the right collections of pills..."
i imagine stacking them up to replace my wasting muscles
laying mortar between each row
and watching the violent storms and steady
growth of moss eating their sugary coats
faster than the centuries i take to place them
i'm really not ok.
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