The girl who destroyed the world
sees you dead. Post apocalyptic rain and a punctured Diet
Mtn. Dew Earth, after everything has crumbled.
Finally, some peace of mind. I missed
your call and I heard you cry to the sound of my dial tone:
Maybe my legs were wrapped around something other than the end of your couch. Maybe I finally found something new to grind against, something hot and tangible. The white heat I’ve always wanted. Remember when I clogged your sink with Colgate? I was so angry that I couldn’t remember my own name. You swallowed surrender and fell back against the couch cushions that I bought. I rang the neighbors doorbell and pressed my hands to the outside of their house, dug into the stucco summer, pig-skin pink. I spit my nails onto their driveway. I was in no rush; you weren’t lying there dying, after all, you were just lying. I tripped back through our door, lips sticky, a slight red, pulling apart my split ends. You looked up at me. You told me you were sorry. I popped my gum over your neck and listened to that forever heartbeat I know you have. I’ve touched it so many times; I prodded in with a wet tongue, and you let me. I swallowed around your sizzling veins. You were always gagging for it. I sat back and switched on the radio. All I got was you, plucking your stupid guitar. I see you dead. I see you dead. I look out of the living room window and pretend you’re roadkill.
Leave your name and number after the beep.