One. A dreary smile,
a promise hid between gritted teeth
obsessive compulsive tendencies,
unresponsive to logical arguments
Two. A stain under the mattress,
jelly-like mass transforming into larvae
crawling on my skin, kissing my elbows
while I stain the pillowcase
with foamy secretion
Three. I appear missing,
a joke lost in translation
from Swedish into ache
vällust and frosseri,
taking all I need,
learnt by pride
the same teacher who taught me
how to swing a bat.
Four. I throb and quiver.
The absence of you looks good on me.
My cheeks bulge and
my taste buds contract in anticipation;
There are worse things coming still.
Hey people, I’m not quite formally back from my hiatus, as my mental health requires most of my energy at the moment, but I thought I’d stop by to post this. Yeah. I guess I couldn’t resist.