to be all that to change to dwell in the innards of the never ending serpent self-deception selfishness self-sustenance only and only if only if the innards were long enough to live forever.

I stand at the bottom of a big hill There are paths supposed to be walked by my feet up there But my feet are tired, bloody and covered in piss, semen and post-it notes They have been circling around this rock that is between my legs Everywhere I go…

“Who are you?” Asks the man in the mirror Who is supposed to me but I don’t recognize him “Who am I?” I reply, he retorts “You are melancholy You are a cold Tuesday morning in mid-winter You are the unsent make-up letter to your ex You are the teardrop…