In this Bed

I waste and repeat. Fill my body with want and desire–douse them in .abv & dump it all off the edge.

Seedlings sprout through carpet. I wrench them from the ground. Gobble them up between

my desperate teeth. Gnashing until the bitter green coats my throat.

Never satiated–only thirstier. But at least the endless thorns let me feel something.

I spit blood into empty vessels. Hoping a piece of me will live again.