Sterile fountains,
drain easily from faucets to suburban mouths.
The judgements we raise,
with advil and fish food to grow over pains.
I write an empty check, fill in my mother's premature death,
all just to speak with you.
I cannot write words to cover my open wounds.
An asshole rips,
my vaginal walls gaping.
All these little things,
we participate in.
Wipe from front to back,
stare at my shit.
Some man stops to inform me he served his time in the navy,
that his wife still smells good to him after all these years.
I fall in love with my city again,
and will want to blow it up by next week.
I smoke my 10 cigarettes at night
and think how I'll be dead by 30 if I'm lucky.
Maybe reverse my age, shave my head,
and watch the security guard flirt with her perimeter.