Feya, 4am

A Poem by Richard

Feya, 4am
A profane sass at the back of your throat
The garbage building up in the swimming pool,

We never discussed
Disgusting insect popsicle
In spider-web thin lips
A handjob professional
With knives for wrists
Starlight, Starbright
Starsong, bar song,
Twinkle twinkle jet black eyes
that terrible light
Turn up the blood, Jean-Luis
wait, does it make me look weird?
Journalist by day, mutant by night
out on the hot grass
getting a rejection tan
Staring through a hall of mirrors
each one quieter than the last
mirrors are sexist, anyway
says the woman with the constant dripping throat

Projecting your spit slithering tongue
into the ear of your lover
Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow
Don’t stop taking pills
Don’t stop hiding
between the sheets

Come on, let’s play suicide,

I’m bored