My morning is churning from living too
hard. Right now I make everything hard,
hard, hard. Shards of light are not
welcome here. I don’t want to see
last night. How many? Which one?
Which tongue? Lust is stupid revenge
but it’s all in the name of good fun.
That’s what I’m all about. I am a
fucking balloon, high on helium,
heavy with emptiness. My mind
is a carousel doused in neon lights.
I’m sure there should be something
in my chest but I don’t know it is.
It rides into my throat and then
dives back down again. I am
speeding without a seatbelt,
stealing shots from strangers.
My reputation is burning like February.
It is always my turn to shock those
conservative cunts. To please them,
to tease them, those tough guys in tutus.
All year I’ve been good, good, good and
now I am tired and it’s so easy to be bad.
Who are you?
Even better in fact.
Let’s go hide so I don’t freak.