Reset Button

Weird Poetry

I never wait for the right time to

reset rebuild renew re-write

I start yesterday

Because I’m more afraid of feeling stuck in my own muck and mire than I am of stripping in front of a crowd, and laughing like a lunatic under a full supermoon (or whatever lame ass name they have for a full moon coinciding with its perigee).

Sometimes I fall into holes and screech my self-pity into the walls with the blood under my nails. I act as curator of my own demise and the architect of my own dungeon of terror strewn with torn lingerie, melted wax, drained batteries and paint spatter. As well as a little blood and spit and cum for good measure.

I hate days like that. They always feel like they win… until the last minute.

But I never let them win.

Maybe I do for a second,

But I always sweep up my own ashes after a good self-burning.





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