I want to lunge and make his neck mine,
red hot fish hooks pull my eyes apart and
I think I’m more articulate than I (really) (actually) am
I want to OPEN WIDE and swallow something,
really get some nutrients from it,
really become it.

‘I’ll look up poetry books on my kindle,’ I think, ‘because this is going nowhere.’

I am just trying to write about what makes me feel like shit, but the muses curdles quietly in the corner.

again.