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]. Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related September 27, 2013 Categories: Poetry