I have been told people who take warm showers are lonely,that they crave bodies. So, sometimes I think myselfevil brute,chewing onflesh to tear itfrom their bones tobuild myselfprecarious bodies,upon which I can balancemy very delicate ego. But mostly, I think myselfone-eyed cyclops, narrow-visioned,searching only for warmth,as cold rain pours from the showerhead above.More
a thief entered in daylight, breathing air-tight, with vexatious appetite, left the house frozen, but patronisingly rosen, each petal coerced me to an empty room i, a cartographer shrouded in gloom,
my life is a bed,
sheets disguise affectations,
somedays, i feel home.