Chamber Music

When the sound of piss

hitting porcelain

is the applause—uh,

when you act like this—

and make me feel as

valued and as real

as the black hole you’re

pullin’ me into;

stars die, pop, and hiss.


Death-kissed skin unbound—

shittin’ layers and

soundin’ ev’ry bit

a bite ripped/loaded

down—waits and waits and

wastes words spent like rounds;

you’ve fired me out, I’ve

lost-it and let you

use-it (my “Muse”) [sic].