Ambulatory

Hey crazy, where ya been?
It used to be a numbers game
trying to see how many
before you realized you weren't numb anymore.

How many did it take?
Before you realized you were still dead
and no one could resurrect you
make you holy, make you erect,
make you come,
how many did it take before you gave in

& killed it?

The numbers are higher now
the stakes more shocking

thirty-seven strong,
haven't come in years,
still clean,
no diseases forcing you to stop

Good morning, crazy--
frustrated yet?

you've spent years constructing injuries
that keep you from getting hard
while vaginas wither
weep, lilt, just begging you to
FUCKING STOP

because it's been hours now,
and you sit still in your dark room
smoking, doting, fidgeting

thinking, maybe the next one
"I just need to try one more."

the lamp next to you isn't bright enough
and you barely passed your college courses
the apartment kind of smells like piss
and you are so thin you leave bruises against thighs
from leaning into them

couldn't life be bright and shining?
the carpet is shag,
and maybe next time you'll come.

(Compost Heap, 2010)