We sit down and watch tee-vee
in three dee
on telemundo
with the subtitles on
pretending im moved
by the ballads of corrupt politicians
The ants on my skin
dig in the trenches
for the holy war
i always attributed
to afternoon cold sweats
the awkward facial expression
mouth half hammered open
in the back seat with
a heart beat reaching mild cardiac
arrest.
I lean forward and tuck
my spinning visions between my legs
and breath deeply
oh god fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckk
and the moment passes
i am on the verge of constant meltdown
some nights my ex soviet union bloodcells
and cosmonaut skeletons drifting around in deep cerebellum space
have forsaken me with the promises of revolutionary dreams.
Not dyslexic hand writing
and a faulty machina in the face
of steam powered afternoon gamma rad exposure.
You were built on a family of cuban cigars
and dutch architecture
the lead paint interior
keeps so sweet
as well as avoiding public crisis
a small star
a soul
falling out
and
consuming everything
returning all the fucking shitty things i never deserved
back to sender.
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