Unfuck Me

Unfuck Me


Lourdes Vega

I was found hospice. Force fed opiate and emptied of emotion.

I coaxed catatonia, seducing it with my innate vulnerability.

I called the easiest escapade and he answered.

Man deserving nothing less than a bullet between the eyes, but somehow managing much more.

Lest our heads be dipped in sky, our hearts were on fire and bodies entwined.

Drowsy eyed

First thing Whisky, second hand smoke. It was languid play with a lighter in bare flesh.

Careless loving so the skin shrunk back.

We steal softly thru bank balance, pocketbook, paypal. To pay off the debts of the dead—

we are professional mourners of our lack of profession.

Maybe we could decapitate the dependency of the rush, locate the root and cauterize,

to shake and scald my mind.

We’re a little reckless, though moreover melancholy with a strain of sleepy eye.

Injecting knowledge with an overdose—futile.


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