Tags
I am an insomniac burning away the midnight fuse, I can't sleep, poem, Poetry, sonnet, yoked-nasty
I can’t sleep. My dreams ruin me. My dreams
of beasts yoked-nasty with Venus figures
hoofed and urged. Urge and scream. I hate their screams.
Clover honey dripping from their fingers.
This is not my real face, nor my real name.
Nothing about me is real, though I lay
stripped, so that you can eat away my shame.
Eat til you gag. What runs through me will slay
any mortal. My fingers quivering,
The buzz cock flickering; the purple moon.
I can’t sleep. Mouth full. Alcohol and pears.
I am night’s poison. Tossing and turning.
I am the teacup. I am the typhoon
making such a fuss over Hell’s nightmares.