Sad Labels:
happiness
,
manic
,
philosophy
The pesticides in his semen never did kill the roaches inside her vagina. Besides. She was quite content with the infestation. Knowing she wasn't different anymore.
The darkness picked. Dead flowers in her painkillers misleading death again. Dirty pantyhose on the shower rod writing poetry with each drip.
Menstruating hearts wish to reproduce. Clone the happiness they know is leaving them. And so they do. One child at a time. They live again.
And there's nowhere left for us to go.
The smell of aces thick in a game of poker. The roar of dead angels in the pot I'm about to win.
I don't lose unless I want to.
I do believe in heaven. It's just that mine is real.