(ANI)

Briny martini’s 

are just too grown 

up for me. 

I need to have something sweet after. 

Can I lick your molars? / You spit in my mouth?

Lands as sarcastic, self pity 

Lands like you’re a cuck. 

Think: hyper enjammed (totally a word) / getting broken.

Fax me, 

And I’ll fax you back. 

Bzzt-beep-bzzt-beep, 

beep-bop-bop-bzzzt, 

whirrr, bzzzt !

Incoming fax !

on my imaginary fax 

machine 

says something like: 

I miss you 

I say something back,

something something 

precious, 

or,

something something 

cute. 

Fax won’t go through 

though. 

It reads:

none of this 

is actually 

real. 

Incidentally, 

none 

of this 

was real. 

Burnout.

The idle self contrasts the judgemental writer, who, beyond structure, routinely lacks curiosity, while somehow remaining hostile. 

As if we do not worship the same God? 

Bend our knees as they say we do.

I try to cry 

while taking mirtazapine, 

but it feels like 

diet sweetener. 

The fax machine is ringing. 

But this time it says it’s just out of 

ink.