I Fight Wasps

i fight wasps and suicide because they are after me. i do it well.

i rip the guts out of bunnies with my bare car and i feel sick. i vomit on my shoes.

i fuck girls never who are in the mood to fuck me. truly.

i want you to wear my shirt to

bed. i want you to wear my mind like slippers and walk around alone in your own house shushing your babe.

i fight the box of people who are

dancing blind over a roiling ocean, spinning at the edge of the last wharf.

i vomit on their shoes and i do it well.

i fight wasps and suicide because they both picked on me when i was younger, weaker, susceptible.

i put poison in me to put the poison somewhere else.

i tear the guts out of me with bare poison. i don’t fuck.

i kiss with this. this is safer:

i want you to wear my mind like scissors and chase me.