it's been seven hours since you went missing & threatened to kill yourself &

i see it already—                in a week, i'll go to some godzilla of a man's house in                                                         a penthouse & plan on giving

himmy body—                                     but when i get there, i'll onlylet him touch                my ass because that's all he'll want anyway                     maybe                                                            i'll let him kiss my neck or put his                                                                                            hands in my pants                                                                                             if he's slick enoughmy eyes will be—closed or to the sky                                                        probably         open,             i can conjure you above us & force you to watch,                                         tell    you,     this    is     the   only   way   i            know                          how to grieve: one bad choice after another.            i'll then spend the rest of the evening wondering other            ways to punish the dead