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.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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