these are my letters
to myself.

Message to Readers

words are wounds and wounds are weapons and weapons are words.


February 19, 2019


i am rotting
on the outdoor chair.

too dead for flies to
eat; they instead

slurp at my fingers;
the sweat drips in lines

dry as riverbeds,
down my thigh,

down my chest,
down past my feet.

the flies are drowning
in my armpits, in my mouth.

they taste like dog food,
like dog pills,

the kind you use to knock
an animal out. no hammer

needed when you’ve got
dog pills, dog pills.

the flies bob and shudder,
drunk on the drugs

like scarabs stuck
in festering dung. i am dying,

i am dying, i can
feel the flies feast

on my lungs.


See History

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  • a sprig of pink

    ooooh. gory, gory, stuff.

    over 1 year ago
  • ghostlyglory

    so gory. i love it

    almost 2 years ago
  • Kenny

    i don't really know what this means bc im dumb but the writing is wonderful

    almost 2 years ago
  • RNE

    this is soo beautifully written, it kills me.

    almost 2 years ago