bitchy-poo

do you ever tire of trying
to break through the hive mind,
starlight?
let me punctuate
the exclaimed wound
with some lime-juice-truth.
chase your shot
at living the dream
sweet on these
maraschino love-stained parchment sheets.
there’s no cheating those
who’ve got the honest goods,
god,
the vast eons and egos in
every
single
inkblot
give you away.
pray to the typewriter theologians,
stay pressed between the button pressing
of buttoned-up emojis,
pursed lips in permanent duck-face,
immortalized in an insta-moment,
grams up your nose,
high on hearts
in the circle of praise.
comments for daze.
meanwhile, i’ll stick to the erotic hermeticism
of my hedonistic hermit ways.
tried and true.
watch out,
karma cartel’s coming for you.

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