Did it ever occur to you
that your memory lane might be my nightmare alley?
That your Wonder Years might be my Bright Lights, Big Shitty?
That one day I’d drink vinegar from the bottle on a green velvet couch,
and force my pen to resurrect your sharp, square hands,
your spiderwords burrowing underskin?

Uptight girl, she’s been living in a cocaine world.

No, it’s just that my chest is full of bees,
knees ground down to gristle and teeth to white dust.
I shouldn’t complain.
I’m a spoiled cunt who gets to have your cake
and get eaten out too.
It all just tastes like numb to me,
glassburnt smile, tinderbox heart,
till my knees land hard and split open like fruit,
and the spiders gush out in obsidian droves,
flooding the pavement
atomic
shimmering
free

And if I see you
ever, anywhere, square hands in full pockets,
don’t you dare
tell me
I look
healthy.