House party

Coloured friendship balloons make my head tickle.
My heart tickles and I think of you,
as I light the millionth cigarette.
My pillow will smell of smoke tomorrow
but I must keep these hands of dough busy.

And hello officer, how very Spike Lee of you to pop in!

Blocks and chunks run wild down pipes,
All around me the scatter of wasteful paranoia.
I giggle to myself, and float giddily down the stairs.

A boy sleeps at my feet –
he looks peaceful and probably smells of sick.

I spin around twice,
I must keep up with the rushing headlights

I mustn’t let go, I sli i i i i de.


How did we end up here here?
Under the stairs in cobwebs.

You’re not as silly as me
and I kindly want you to take advantage.

I want you to make the worthlessness real

and give me something to hold on to.

But then your hand leans out and you stroke my cheek.

The tenderness is revolting but I let you fuck me anyway.
You grunt pathetically as I scratch at you like a wild cat

I am no longer sickly, just giddy and heady.

The faces, sweat, and tiny little squares
they all fade and flash.

And you are warm and genuine:

A toothache and desperate desire.
And to think that just this morning,

my alarm clock was destruction!

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