Maybe I’m just stoned but this feels profound. The midnight sky above me, expanding infinitely, so soundless, and my trashy little city below it howling like a dying animal.
I wear my ugly heart inside my throat like a goiter. I stroke my curved bones, ingrown, all out of place, staring at this body that surrounds me, laid out on my bed, drowsy, a half made cloud floating through the sky because it’s filled with drugs
and lazy dreams.
How many poems are there about people feeling fucked up and deathless because the disaster of their lives is so complete that it will never be resolved?
Here’s another one.