write about smoking or just smoke

the queer rich kid who couldn’t look at me

i could just drink drink and drink
drink the way it could snow

he is so perfectly a little we sweet and small

it seems like all i do is move things around
and then drink or sleep


am i just so fucking stupid

now something wants to go to sleep

what if i’m dying?
what if that isn’t diaper rash?
what if that is blood?
i guess i’m dying
the question is how and when?
what did you expect?
would you have done anything differently?
isn’t it beautiful just the way it is?
it is



the power is out
and how quiet it is
it makes me feel like writing
or at least sitting around
with the baby
doing pretty much nothing

my body is falling down
it seems
red blotches everything is flakey and itchy

the painted pussy boxes and other purple victories