Wake up mad, cum in your toilet bowl please.
Honey mustard stains mark the bathtub wall.
You keep waking up in a human funk,
Remember that feeling - waking groggy
after that mid-afternoon nap? When the sky
is heavy with purple and all those
familiar emotions weighed down by gravity?
You woke up feeling that three years ago,
sweaty neck in your dorm room, and since then
you've never been the same.
Pushing away that depressing Scottish novel,
you unravel your pants, as the afternoon sun pushes past.
You feel your penis and the sweat falls from the small
of your back, printing a Rorschach on the bed sheet
in the shape of a Brontosaurus rearing its head.
Are you still afraid? Are you dead yet?
Did you ever prove your point?
What can it mean to smell, I mean truly smell;
A human swamp?
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