This restless and irritating
little tick in my skin
won't leave me alone.
I scratch and I pick
and I peel away
my flesh, digging
away the rotten.
My words are matted
cat hair and
malignant growths, needing
to be cut off and out.
I reek of apathy
and whiskey
and lies
and lost sleep
and I feel
as if I am
caught in a swirling
whirlpool of
the kind of loneliness
that consumes men whole.

This has to end.

I've rearranged my furniture
and tried holding
different hands
and
different ****
and tried kissing
different lips
and I've even went
so far as to try
eating different *****,
but the hands
don't fit the
right way and
the **** don't look
the same
and I never
did want to kiss
anyone
but you and
nobody's ****
will ever taste
as good as yours.

Here and now, alone.
Missing you, empty again.
I ******* love you.

You are my sugar.
Bugs and worms whispered the truth.
So get used to it.

Listen buttercup,
This is just the way it is.
Now do what I said.

I hate myself, now.
I want to die, today, now.
I choose life, right now.

Apathetic sloth,
Your whorish ways bring me down,
*******, filthy ****.