a small frog lodges itself in my throat. a dry scream. a call for help.
wide-eyed and worthless, what will you do?
sleep now. close your eyes and then puff your way into my lungs.
lay there. lie and lie. do not open your mouth.
I die. You know I could. And you would die too, grafted into my skin,
my cells, my awkward limbs, the unfortunate body which
has to move and convince a stranger I am worthy of love.

little green monster, tiny hidden peek of rumbles and soft skin
I repent, I take it back, open your lips and tell me
I am a bright piece in this awful wreckage.
and tell those others, please tell them,
they have no business here.
I do not want them anymore,
or ever again.

----------
written sunday night.
today is tewzday (it's really not monday)
tomorrow will be windzday.
& on & on & on.


-----------------------------------
(buzz for a cliche)
-coll, this is a reminder that something was
here, that you need to remember, but don't
need to type out in full-