i get a face full of stank and staleness, from the silver and flashing-by-graffiti 6:02,
with it’s unforgiving squeal and early suits.

please can i come home (no, i don’t want to go home)
maybe they still love me (no, they never did love me)

more eyes linger on me today than yesterday
those conceited eyes divert back to their iphones
and their twitters and-

“hey, what are you fuckin’ lookin’ at!”

i don’t know what else to do, but endure this bench and it’s solitude and
cold comfort
far from the bed where i endured his hands and
cold comfort


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