2:04 p.m. - 2007-03-18
a liitle bit not like alot
how home sick are you
for your unresponsive repository
you cant stop dreaming of all the doors without locks
and the food that’s probably rotten by now
and all those childhood pets that died years ago of the misery of being lost
in your abandoned childhood home
screaming and eating one another, locked in your parents bedroom
away from your day to day
just below the surface of course
barking and stinking when you sleep
how sick of home are you
For your venus figurines among your mothers jesus
to wit
your one and only truly never ever likely
that confuses your nocturnal ethos
by smashing your pathos
To little bits
how much do you need
that soft
that thing
you really fucking need
To wit
To fuck
How sick does it make you
To smell that smell
that’s been making your mother bent over in sickness for years
how hard does it make it
To ignore that brown paper cut out around your window
or maybe the white spray paint attempts
The devils in the pudding
and the pudding tastes like everyone
How fast can you get
the fuck out of this hell
on your little mermaid ten speed
peddling in the mud
sinking and crying knowing that…
but then
there is no end
When you are the repository
for all that cant be forgotten
when you wake up from that seriously odd dream
to wit
your seriously odd reality
just below the surface
muffy and Johnson and whatever
scratching for food and water
screaming for you
to let them out
