the mood

I hate everything. whatever
you’re selling, I’ll have
none of it. I am a lizard
person deprived of warmth.
my hinged jaw could open
and swallow you whole.
if everyone could just stop
expecting me to talk to them,
I might survive this night
without the blood of well-meaning
idiots on my scaly, scaly hands.
if one more girl looking
down on her luck bums
a cigarette from me, I shan’t
be held responsible
for my actions.

whatever the fuck
you have to say to me,
I’d rather be sleeping.
break you open, suck the marrow
out of your bones, if I
had the energy. so go
ahead, do your worst, exist so
blatantly right in my
face. I’m so sick
of being awake that
even these fresh-faced
newbies doing heartwarming
numbers can’t make me
feel something, try as they
might. but I know this
mood. it will pass
eventually. either I
will outlast it, or I’ll finally
get to sleep for more
than six hours
uninterrupted. pray
for the latter, but
expect the former.