Cruddy smells flake off the house and I know I shouldn’t be here.

No one has in faithless year after faithless year.

Knock it off.

I see you filching my backup plans from my purse.

God I wear blue well.

My soul is transparent like the cleanest lake.

 

I am without my numbers and shapes,

sewn from cotton fields.

I’m a doll you can love, hate, dissipate.

Somber ideas finger my mind.

I always overcome them.

My mind is the zenith of razors,

My hair is the desire to die all of us want.