some days
we long to be killed
more than others
to save us
from spilling
our secretive druthers
in rum-soaked confessions
to loathsome ex-lovers
or nameless encounters
with strangers uncovered
shamelessly asking for help
from our mothers
whose salt stings the wounds
from the womb to the gutter
whose ruinous choices
left pagans to shudder
impetuous voicings
so flagrantly uttered
lugubrious lamentations
seethe and smother
you see
i have neither the will
nor the the wanting
to languish in suffering
ever so daunting
i rather prefer
to bestir to the coffin
and slough this infernal coil
right the fuck off then!
[image credit: Edward Honaker]
Max, or Not 