prose poem 1

wash me please

miserable is your name and you wear it proudly. there is dirt under your fingernails and you throw tantrums when the coffee has gone cold. your car makes a screeching noise and exudes black smoke. you have five cats and are adopting a sixth because it is ‘a poor wretch from the street’ but you haven’t bothered to clean the litter in a month. there is mold growing on the coffee cups and flies fuck like rabbits in the sink. wads of trash spill over into the living room and you have a collection of water bottles cascading over like the Niagara falls. there is a worn pathway of filth circling the tub and thick black hair has turned into a nub clogging the drain. there are bills you have to pay and parking tickets tick tick ticking away. you have a novel of receipts that you have named after Proust’s The Remembrance of Things Past. and the past, the past is something you never want to speak of. you ramble on about death like it is your mother; lovingly with faithful adoration. you chew with your mouth open and close the blinds when the sunlight shines through.

you are miserable, miserable, miserable, and i think i love you.

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