wallflower
the crick-cracking is itching my eardrum. i’m stuck to this onyx sticky wall,
my face is muffled in the bristols.
my ass, bare and round, facing the den— i feel like some sort of satirical poster
decorating a stoner’s dorm room.
occasionally I’ll push outwards but my ab muscles are too elementary— i’m stuck alright.
like the sway of a Spider’s supper, my own snide slasher film, like the Soul’s stifling sin—
e x i s t