I think I might be catching
some sort of disease
My back hurts more than it should.

I want my money back
this isn’t what I asked for
It costs more than I thought it would
I’ve nothing left to give.

Plastic bottles all lined up,
thoughts in one
personality in another
dreams flushed down the toilet
so you don’t get caught with them
Adult-proof caps your tired fingers
can’t unscrew

You’ve come undone.

You’ve come unscrewed.

And the hookers all look down their noses
caked with black from last night’s cheap mascara
They won’t even try
to catch your eye

They can smell the desperation
bottom-shelf, unlike their own

They are contemptuous of you
and your despair
and if you’re lucky, they might flash a tit
corrupt you for a dollar and they know
your holes are full of pockets
pockets full of holes
Backed up flat against the wall you spill your coins and relish
your disease.