They Do Not Make The Rules

Sitting deep in the stillness of my salty past,
I can remember,
like a clouded day,
like a fog of overturned graves,
like an everlasting loneliness,
the day I set myself free.

The day I realised that dogs were all wolves,
that we’re all cannibalists of time,
that we gobble everything up and
swallow without chewing.

I could lay here all day,
feel the hours tick away,
I could drink soup and carve wood
and laugh at myself,
and go around and around
in the pot of my despair.

Until, suddenly I’ve convinced myself
of the need for air,
the sickly breath of rotting sweetness,
a nectar of my sin,
I have started to dance
with devils and
my skin is paper thin.

I looked up to burn holes in my retina,
stared right into his eyes,
I fucked myself with a hairbrush
and gave him
a lovely smile.

I am the grime in your fingernails,
and the mould in your heart,
I’m the gasps in
your orgasm,
your everlasting past.

You can’t leave me behind,
and you can’t pick me up,
I reside in between you,
I’ll drink from your cup.

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