Her decline into madness began with the

Application of a borrowed morality, with

Nymphish hearts printed naively onto the

Cocktail napkins of dark-eyed strangers

Reckless entreaties for pressed silhouettes

And somatic diversions. She lies beneath the

Hides and hollows of men discarded not simply

By their wives and children but of their will to

Aspire to any pursuit save inebriation. Showers

Do not evict vindictive inhabitants from organs

And vessels, by her own admission a whore


Amnesiac Goddess summoned from lecherous

Sheets into a stillborn dawn, her affectations as

Fleeting as the occupancy of whiskey-drenched

Souls horizontally possessed. The collapse of

Youth has lowered her expectations, love has

Been replaced with noxious heat, dreams with

The hysteria of 3am vigils through unmarked

Streets, beauty with experience and self-effacing

Generosity, the city as empty as the denizens shiftless

Within, she is filled with burdens and complications,

With tears that cannot be slaked or volitionally shed


In her apartment bitter rinds piled high, paisley-patterned

Diaries grieving, the wallpaper smells of perspiration

Victimized by a heavy right hand scrawling blistering

Hymnals, prayers and visions unanswerable by her

Devious God. She keeps the television on for company

Sometimes the actors speak to her intimately, reciting

Lists of obituaries, prey of her superstitious thoughts

How can the fate of the world rest upon her? She who

Wavers and weakens. Unpretentious in her sunlit

Conspiracies she wears a square of tinfoil in her

Frontal lobe, signals from Neptune and chronic

Insomnia have given way to postmortem nightmares


This is not autobiographical despite my recent difficulty with sleep haha