Waking up with a small,
red gash on your knuckle
– a bloody gully – it is something
like waking up
wearing Hitler’s wedding ring
or looking into the shiny,
taxidermied eyes
of a unicorn’s head, mounted
on oak.
Last night
I was alone.
I cursed it.
I threatened to eat hearts
and rape virgins.
Instead I screamed
and my fist screamed
and together we claimed
the wall. The wall.















Comments
Well actually I basically love all your poems but yeah.
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